


Consequences of a Huntress (as found on FF.Net)

by SionnaDehr



Category: Original Work, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Original antagonists - Freeform, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14002029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SionnaDehr/pseuds/SionnaDehr
Summary: There are many strange situations one's line of work can land them in. In Huntress Brianna's case falling through an archway at Stonehenge after killing one of her enemies and ending up an entire galaxy away was one of them. And Aragorn? He just wished she hadn't landed on top of him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm importing this story from Fanfiction.Net to here. Not because I'm done with fanfiction.net, but because I want to reach more people. So, without further ado, here is, actually, the rewrite of the original story "Consequences of a Huntress". I'm rather proud of both works, honestly, as I think it best showcases my progress as a writer. Enjoy!  
> As a special note the formatting here is a bit wonky as I didn't expect the import to completely change it. Lol! I'll have to slowly transfer later chapters over. I have some special formatting on some of them.

**Prologue**

**Death at the Stones**  

Darkness fell as the sun left the horizon behind and the day succumbed to the night. Figures hooded in dark ceremonial robes carrying torches that flickered an eerie green across the night-scape trudged up the steep incline of a hill from three sides. Each group ascended in a delicate half circle that turned outward to the directions they came from instead of inward and consisted of thirteen populated groups. The middle one dragged three victims behind them, one a girl of about eleven or twelve, another a woman in a hospital gown with a profound baby bump still protruding from her stomach, and the last an old blind woman loudly demanding where she was being taken. 

Brianna barely breathed though her consciousness was horrified at the scene she could see from the corner of her eye. The bracelets that housed her weapons hung limp around her wrists. She had to resist the urge to fidget with them lest she give herself away to the enemies behind her. The elder was the strongest, the most defiant, and she would go last. She yelled at all of them, offered curses fowler than even Brianna had uttered in the past, and struck some of her assailants. The little girl was silent though her face was white as a sheet. Faintly Brianna saw slight tremors shudder up her back and around her bare knees. She, like the old woman, was still in her night clothes though hers were shorts instead of a flimsy polyester gown.  

Across from her Karen and Matt hid themselves behind three other pillars blessedly out of sight of the sorceresses. She squinted, lips pinched tight, and looked for the one hosting the ritual. 

There she was! Behind the elder walked a tall and proud old woman with a deceptively kind face and big blue-gold eyes that promised light and life and some sort of wisdom. All profane, and all a lie. This was the Morrighan and she was doing... something. Brianna and her team hadn't quite discovered what it was. The use of Stonehenge was a clue, a good clue, but beyond that they hadn't deciphered. How could they? 

The three groups of thirteen entered the stone circle and trust the thirteen year old forward first. Brianna didn't tense into battle ready position. She couldn't. She was ordered not to. Finding out what the bitch was up to was more important. 

Morrighan's voice crackled into the crisp autumn air and the dark, twisted, language of the Raiphahim - something Brianna had never really been able to understand - leeched out into the night. Only a few lines were uttered before a hand gnarled into dark claws and plunged itself into the girl's chest. She screamed and Brianna winced hating herself as she stood by and watched. Orders were orders.

 _They aren't my orders,_ she thought. _If they were I would have saved her._

 _And placed this mission in jeopardy,_ spoke a very pointed voice that sounded suspiciously like her aunt's.

Brianna wasn't surprised. Her aunt would say that very thing and would have been correct. If she moved now everything they had been trying to do until this point would have been a waste of time. 

The next girl, woman, was thrust forward. Tears stained a heavily painted face and her full, red painted lips quivered in the dim green light. It made her look sick though Brianna wouldn't have been surprised if she was a bit. She looked like she had been snatched out of the birthing room. Traces of blood wafted into her nostrils from the woman's direction. 

Brianna swallowed bile and continued to remain crouched in her place as the gnarled claw-like fingernails of The Morrighan plunged into her chest and ripped out her heart. The human didn't even scream. She simply let out a faint "ugnk" and slumped against the stone altar. Blood bubbled from the corner of her mouth.   

Brianna’s eyes watered. She blinked it away and sucked in a deep breath. 

 _Bloody hell_ , she thought.  _Bloody fucking hell!_  

It wasn't as if she’d never seen a person die before, but to be the one to stand behind a pillar and just allow it to happen all because the woven gentry wanted to know where The Morrighan was trying to go was an entirely different matter. Such an act was worst than anything she’d done before, but they were orders from the Council of Nobles - a group of people she had no control over these days. Was she sick for letting these women die or were her enemies sick because they did the deed in the first place? Brianna found this situation far more sinister because she and her team weren't doing anything. She hadn't returned to OLYMPUS just to let innocent people die! But she hadn't been able to do anything. The third woman was murdered as well. Sacrificed as those disgusting bastards liked to call it.

She curled her lip. Whether she was more disgusted with herself or the people who made it their life's ambition to hurt others Brianna wasn't sure. All she knew was that the only way she could feel the least bit atoned for the sin of apathy was to slaughter each and every one of those sons of bitches as quickly and efficiently as possible. 

At this point it was her call. Brianna let the final fell words die into the increasing wind before she stood drew back the bow she'd held strung onto the dry autumn ground and aimed the arrow loosely placed in her hold at the acolyte next to The Morrighan. Typically it was better to kill the sorceress who conducted the ceremony, but Brianna felt a deep sense of need to directly engage with her. The arrow flew and the acolyte crumbled. The body hit the ground with a muffled thump. The groups tensed and Brianna unstrung her bow, allowed it to morph back into her quiver, and allowed her knives to materialize into her hands. She stepped into the green light. 

"The angel of death has come for you, The Morrighan," she said coldly. 

Brianna didn't give anyone time to respond. She didn't even give Karen and Matt a minute or two to get themselves situated. Blades flashed in the moonless sky that glittered with thick dumps of stars and sliced through the living necks of two sorcerers closest to her. Black blood pooled around the bodies as they slowly crumbled to the earth like broken porcelain dolls. Without much thought she moved to her next victim, and the next, and the next. None of the little sycophants mattered to her. Each teal eye was fixed on the dark, bottomless pools of a distinctly enraged Morrighan. 

Once Karen and Matt took control of the fighting Brianna grinned and leapt for the Raiphahim. She pushed fire around the blades. The Morrighan used her magic - a mistake - and stopped the flooding onset of white hot flame. Brianna came up underneath her and thrust up. The long knife's blade, already stained with black blood, entered her stomach with a satisfying slick squelch. 

It didn't go in deep enough. The  Morrighan stepped back with a snarl and hurled another glob of black magic toward her. Brianna blocked it with a wall of silver wind and pushed it out and against the torrent of darkness. The sorceress maintained her strength. Brianna chuckled darkly and let go of her control and just forced a steady stream of the Light Wind magic. The Morrighan grunted and flew backwards. She hit the ground closest to three intricately placed pillars of Stonehenge that formed some sort of door. Brianna approached, knives ready to strike in different places that would assuredly reach her heart. The Morrighan struggled to launch another attack, but Brianna broke through it again and stabbed down. The blades entered her heart. The Morrighan shuddered. She grabbed Brianna's shoulders and chuckled out green blood. Brianna wrinkled her nose. 

"My last gift to my cousin," she rasped and pushed Brianna sideways before she could do anything.

Brianna looked up and saw the archway looming over her head just as the world became dark and everything seemed as just a dream. She fell down, deep deep down, and out into daylight. It felt as though she was suspended in mid air for a moment before she plummeted and promptly landed on the ground. 

"Oof!"

It wasn't just she who made that noise.                   


	2. An Unexpected Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna's fallen into Arda and is met with a mistrusting Aragorn who has no qualms about threatening her with a sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter as found on FF.net!

**Chapter 1**  
  
 **An Unexpected Journey**  
 

She wasn't sure where she was or what even happened. All she knew was she blacked out, completely faded from the conscious world for a few seconds, and came to shortly later. The difference between those two moments in time were slightly startling. Before she blacked out Brianna thought that she might have landed on something or someone. After the fact as she blinked into wakefulness Brianna discovered her arms and legs pinned down by a great hulking man. She didn't know much about this man other than he was big, could hold her down with seemingly relative ease, and smelled extremely ripe.  
The intensity of that smell made her nose wrinkle in distaste, but it also served as a boon to completely clear the fog in her mind. This brought her to a more pressing issue than body odor. A sharp, smooth and cold weight pressed lightly, but firmly against her neck. Brianna squirmed and felt the pressure bare down upon her ever so slightly harder. Despite the urge to take in a big gulping swallow in an effort to calm her nerves she thought that the better course of action was to lay there in the patchy ground of coarse grass and dead leaves. The best course of action, she figured, was to allow this strange man to work through whatever issue he had with her.  
_Where am I? Who is this? Is he an enemy? No, I don’t think I’v seen his like before,_ she thought.  
The sword felt too heavy. The man’s clothes seemed to be made of the consistency of hard, stiff, leather. If her own uniform was made of anything else Brianna knew the leather would have started to chafe her skin. Reluctantly she met his gaze. Blue eyes stared down at her full of mistrust and suspicion. His beard wasn’t long, but unkempt and scrappy. If she had to guess she would have figured that the man took a knife to his face periodically to keep the thing from getting too long.  
He’s a wild man and we have them in certain parts of Europe and the United States, but… the leather and… she ceased her pondering when she saw s glimmer of chainmail on his shoulder.  
Cold dread seemed to have punched her in the gut. Chain mail hadn’t been worn by elves, humans and High Fae since the middle of the eighteenth century. To encounter it in this moment meant two things: she either time traveled, or she was no longer on Earth.  
_Well, either way, I’m screwed_ , she thought.  
"Who are you and how have you come upon my company?" The man asked.   
Brianna would have answered as best she could, but the sword pressed against her throat made speaking rather treacherous. She pointedly glared at him. His eyes, blue like sapphires and probably the only attractive thing about him, met her expression head on. Each tested the other to see which of them would break first. Brianna intended to be the one who would win. She had at least one hundred and thirty more years of experience than he did.  
After what seemed an eternity he pulled the sword away and Brianna gulped a goodly amount of air thankful to be able to breath without slicing her throat open. She waited until her body felt rejuvenated from breathing normally before answering.   
"Who wishes to know?" She asked with the intention of being difficult.  
There wasn't a real reason for her being impertinent, but the man rubbed her already frayed emotions in a way that made her want to strike back instead of respond. Said individual raised an eyebrow and angled his sword in a way that was a tad too close to a major artery in her neck. It took all of her willpower to keep from glancing in the direction of that precariously placed blade.   
This time she decided it was better for her health if she simply answered his questions. There was a greater possibility of him giving her answers she sorely needed if she cooperated.   
"My name is Brianna Davis," she introduced, deciding on the name she took among humans to better fit in, "I'm an elven hunter from OLYMPUS and was fighting an evil entity called a Raiphahim when I fell into... something and landed among your company."  
_None of whom I can see any evidence of as of now,_ she thought and willed herself to refrain from glancing around for them.  
"That is quite the tale," the man said after a time.  
Brianna's rope of patience shortened ever so slightly. Why on earth would she lie about this?   
"Who is this OLYMPUS do you serve? Which land do they hail from?" He asked.  
_Land?_ She glanced at his sword and then took better stock of his general appearance and attire. Wherever she was the people likely didn’t know what a cell phone or a car was. It also meant that they probably wouldn’t know what the words “democracy” or “republic” meant if she tried to explain to them what the “State of Alaska” was.  
"I...” she paused.  
How was she supposed to explain any of this without being painfully specific?  
One glance at the man and she decided to make a valiant attempt, “OLYMPUS is based in the State of Alaska part of the United States of America. I was born in... I was born in Earithnaelleon the capitol haven of the the elven peoples on Earth. I was in England at a place called Stonehenge when I fought and fell here," she said, voice wavering as her mind slowly became consumed with the increasingly frightening suspicion that she was no longer on Earth.  
Her fears were confirmed when the human's eyebrows angled downward, clearly confused, and he asked, "Earithnaelleon? I have never heard of such a city before."  
Brianna was quite surprised the man who was clearly human could effortlessly pronounce the name of the elves capital. Many younger elves had trouble with the name at the beginning and they learned the ancient tongue the moment they began to speak. Sometimes the children were taught many months before though it depended on the ambitiousness of the parents.  
Despite her astonishment Brianna closed her eyes and inwardly cursed using every vile word she could think of. Humans wouldn’t know Earithnaeleon, but OLYMPUS was clearly foreign to him as well. On Earth the humans would have recognized that particular faux acronym.    
"Have you heard of anything I've just explained to you?" She asked desperately.   
The shrill tone to her voice inspired an unstoppable cringe to roll through her. Could she have sounded any more pathetic than she did now?  
_Cool it, Bri,_ she thought, _loosing your shit isn't going to get you out of this._  
If it was ever possible for a hard, cold gaze to become harder and colder this man proved it to be so. His eyes held no warmth within and Brianna could see he was on the edge of taking her life and being done with it. Maybe such a thing wouldn't be so bad? She didn't deserve to live anyway not after abandoning her people in the way she had.   
"Lies will not work on me, ella, so I warn you against using them," he warned.  
"Lies?” She snapped, "Why the fucking hell would I lie about a thing like that you inconsiderate bastard!"  
Immediately Brianna regretted her choice of words, but there was no taking them back. She buried the horrified wince deep down within her and continued to allow her emotions to burn and show this stranger everything he needed to know. When was the last time she actually felt anything strongly? She couldn't remember, but she burned all the same.   
_What was that about not loosing your cool, Davis?_ She wondered irately.  
It had been many years since she felt this close to hysteria. The emotion wasn't pleasant as it was, but the memories accompanying were worse. Brianna closer her eyes and went limp into the earth as she tried to regain her typical line between apathy and wrath.  
"Strider, maybe we should listen to her," chimed a youthful male voice from her far right.   
Brianna blinked and had to keep herself from lifting her head to see who spoke. Clearly he had to be one of the companions this man she now knew to be Strider spoke of!  
"Frodo, there is great chance that this elf woman may be in league with the Enemy. We cannot take risks," the man dubbed Strider said.  
"There is little evidence she is with the Riders, Strider! Give her an opportunity to explain herself in a way we can understand then we will judge for ourselves," this Frodo beseeched.   
She held her breath and waited. Strider didn't look convinced that this was the best course of action and she didn't blame him. Whatever elves existed in this world she suspected they looked very different from her. In fact she doubted they sounded like her if the conversations the humans were having was anything to go by.   
"Please," she said, "I don't know what sort of situation I fell into, but you have to believe when I say that if there are any sort of evil bastard trying to hurt any of you then I am just as much as their enemy as you are."  
Strider fixed her with his cold sapphire stare and Brianna held it this time allowing her expression to reflect more of the woman in her than the warrior. She hated revealing that, hated being vulnerable, but something told her that this Strider wouldn't believe her unless she showed something that was less like the cold hearted huntress she had allowed herself to become.   
"I kill dark things," Brianna said, "if you are not a monster I will not hurt you."  
Strider's facade broke at that declaration much to Brianna's relief. His expression turned contemplative and it softened his features enough to make him seem less like the scraggly, dark wildman and more of a person. Someone who did have feelings and could connect with normal people should he choose to.   
"I am at an impasse. We cannot linger to listen to lengthy tales. The Riders follow us even now and they hunt you, Frodo," he said.  
"I know," replied this faceless Frodo, "but I also know she is no threat to us."  
Strider narrowed his eyes, "How is this possible?"  
"It is shaking in my pocket."  
Brianna blinked. What could possibly hate her enough to quiver in this Frodo's pocket? Did he have some sort of dark creature traveling with him?   
Strider fixed his gaze back on her. She chewed her lip. He lifted his sword away from her neck and removed himself from her. Brianna sighed and went limp against the ground for a moment before she began to rise into a sitting position. Strider stood and walked away a few paces. Brianna turned to her right to find herself face to face with her impromptu lawyer. He was short, really short, and he didn't even have a bit of a beard. In fact he resembled a fae with how slight his body seemed even though he looked a bit chubby in a few places. He also looked a bit hungry and ripe - like he hadn't been off the road for quite some time. She frowned, but didn't remark. Her little rescuer likely already knew his state on some level.   
At this time Brianna chose to inspect the rest of her environment and discovered the attendance of other small men hovering around a pony some six feet past Frodo. They gaped at her, eyes wide and wary, and didn't move much from their crouched positions. She sighed. Those men, or boys, or males, or whatever the little ones were supposed to be didn't quite fit the mold of what a member of the Fae were supposed to be. They also didn't seem to look much like dwarves.   
"I do not know what to believe," Strider said after a short passage of time.   
Brianna tore her gaze away from the strange child-sized boys and settled it on her assailant. Her shoulders moved up and down in one quick motion. What did he want her to say at this point? He wouldn't believe her even if she repeated it over and over again.   
"You're a bit short for an elf, are you?" Asked one of the little men Brianna was sure wasn't Frodo.   
She pursed her lips. Naturally the question of her height would come into question. She wasn't that short!  
"My ancestry has a bit of human dilution within and though it's watered down the human blood remains. The women in that family were short, so that's my inheritance," she said testily.  
Queen Athena Parthenel ven Turthen had married one of the children of Laurel Moruni back before her mentor still used her elven name. Professor Moruni held a taste for human men. Though she never bound them to her in life and death the professor loved each husband as equally as the other. Her resulting children over the millennia permeated the world as the best witches and wizards known to her people. Unfortunately, this also meant that the Aldura line, once it married back into elven royalty again, became diluted with that human DNA.  
It was why Brianna never grew beyond five feet and two inches.    
"If you truly are from another world how did you get here?" Strider interrogated.   
Brianna shrugged, "There was this ritual that a Raiphahim - half elven half angel - performed. Human sacrifices were involved and my superior told my team and I to refrain from saving the victims. She killed them and then we attacked. I killed her, but she pulled me and I fell into wherever this place is."  
"What were you doing? Why were you ordered to allow innocent people to die?" Strider asked, visually appalled.  
She pursed her lips. Why indeed? She had asked such a question once and was told the terrible truth by her aunt.   
"Because they inject some sort of serum into their blood stream that makes them lose their minds.We have never been able to find a cure for it, so the best we've been able to do is give them a quick and painless death. As much as I hate to say it, sacrificial ceremonies tend to kill quickly," she explained.  
The party collectively turned various shades of green. Even the hard, weather worn, Strider seemed repulsed. Brianna turned her gaze to the ground and worried her lips with her top teeth. Learning about the serum's effects had been one thing. Seeing it added to the gravity of the reality. She had never questioned her aunt's decision to allow for a quick and easy death afterwards.   
"That's horrible! Who would do such a thing?" Asked one of the younger looking child-men.  
"Heartless sons of bitches, that's who," she spat bitterly.  
"That indeed," Strider muttered and met her gaze, "You know little of this land, I presume, so if I may offer my services to you as a guide?"  
Brianna shot him a mistrustful glance, "Guide to where?"  
"Rivendell, or Imladris if you prefer, home of the elves of this particular region. Lord Elrond is head of that household and can possibly help you return to your world," he offered.   
She smirked and added in the most sugary-sweet voice Brianna could push through her vocal chords, "Or lock me under house arrest to keep me from some evil, diabolical, plan of whoever it is you're running from may have concocted?"  
Strider had the decency not to deny a word of what she said, but he also didn't confirm it. The man just stood on the other end of the small camp with an unimpressed frown on his face. Brianna sighed and stood. Even at her five feet and two inches she had to tilt her head up just to look him in the eyes directly. He was quite tall - even for a human.   
"I cannot say for your intentions, but if what you say is true then our enemies would lust for your knowledge of the other world. I believe it would be better if you accompanied us to Imladris to meet with your kin," he said.  
Brianna inclined her head, "Alright, I'll take that. It's logical. Now, tell me, who are your enemies and why are they chasing you?"  
The silence that met her ears was deafening. The men presented a good show of "not looking" at the other. Brianna huffed and placed her small hands on her hips.  
"Really? Either I'm with the enemy and you chance me just killing the lot of you where you stand, or I'm a friend and I don't even know what I need to help protect you from! Just say it!" She said, exasperated.   
Frodo broke first.  
"It's a ring. I carry a ring that an evil being named Sauron wishes to find. It's part of him, it wants to get back to him. To achieve this goal he has sent out thing... wraiths called the Nazgul to find me, kill me, and take the ring back to their master. We travel to Rivendell to keep it hidden and safe," he said shakily.  
She didn't say anything, not at first. Brianna stared at all of them - Frodo who spoke, Strider who mistrusted her, and the nameless other little people who gaped at her too intimidated to speak - unable to quite come to terms with what she heard. A ring. A dark Lord. Wraiths that hunted them. All to get back a ring.  
She blinked.   
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? Did you just tell me that you're running for your lives all because some asshole wants their jewelry back?" She asked bluntly.  
 

* * *

   
Strider never believed he experienced everything there was to behold in the eighty-seven years he had been alive. This elven woman with hair like the burning surface of the sun and eyes like the post-dawn sky counted as one of those things he had most definitely never seen before. Her clothes were strange – a form fitting combination of cloth and armor – and even embarrassing. One time during their trek she ventured in front of them and Strider beheld the full view of what was possibly the fullest posterior he’d ever seen on any elf. For a good fifteen minutes he barely noticed where he stepped until she turned to him to inquire after a path of jagged rocks before them and whether the Hobbits could handle it. Aragorn – as cool as he could manage – explained to her how Hobbit feet worked.  
There was much to her that troubled him including the way she seemed to become an instant favorite with the hobbits. It very well could have been related to how difficult it was for him to gain their trust. Yet this outlander – a true outlander – fell right on top of him seemingly out of the sky and was met with barely a grain of suspicion. It was nonsensical at first until he silently admitted that she was quite prettier than he was and also closer to them in height. The way she casually walked arm in arm with Merry and Pippin was almost picturesque and very much worrying.  
Her reaction to the ring was what astounded him the most. Frodo had the good sense not to take the thing out and show it to her and for that he was thankful; however, the sheer irreverence and lack of fear towards the talisman shocked him. Isuildur's Bane - just a piece of jewelry yet it promised so much power to the one who possessed it. Brianna Davis didn't seem to think so.  
They had continued on in their journey once the company shook themselves of the stunned stupor she placed them in with her blunt way of describing their predicament. Strider was too troubled to respond at the time, but Merry and Pippin seemed to meet with her particular way of thinking and responded thusly:  
"Oh aye! When you put it like that, it seems rather ridiculous! Almost like that squabble old Bilbo and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins always had over Bag End!" Pippin piped in.  
"Yeah," Merry agreed, "Why put so much stock in a ring you haven't seen or touched for almost three thousand years?"  
"I know elves older than that," Brianna had growled.  
"It's not even a pretty ring, it's just dull and gold. Doesn't even glitter when the light hits it," Sam had remarked.  
Frodo had been the only one of the hobbits, in the end, who looked torn between agreeing with them and telling them exactly how dangerous the ring actually was. He, himself, didn't know that tidbit, so the lad remained silent while the four laughed. Strider had offered as much silent comfort as he could.  
At this moment, as the light of the day faded into eventide, Strider contemplated their predicament while he tied low-hanging branches together with a bit of rope they had on hand. Low-hanging clouds hovered in the distance and moved slowly with the wind, but evidently promised rain possibly that night. It was a small contribution he could make to their company while Brianna showed the hobbits how to build a fire that would only smolder and glow dimly, but give out enough heat to fill their small tree alcove. Sam had been the one to catch on the quickest, so she patiently instructed him while the others watched.   
_And not but a few hours ago she trivialized our entire venture,_ he thought irately.  
Despite this Strider wondered what it was, exactly, that she faced in the past for her to look at a magical ring and proclaim it to be a "bit of jewelry". What was worse than Sauron?   
He made his bed against a thick trunk after grabbing a bit of jerky from their food-pack that Sam took upon himself to hand out. Absently he glanced up at the sparse branches and blinked. They were thicker, wider and new leaves grew stiffly out and allowed for little space for rain drops to spill through. He narrowed his eyes at the elleth sitting next to Frodo with a bright grin on her face as she spoke of this self-moving thing she named a "car".   
There wasn’t a single iota of a song note sung from her throat. Even if their had been such a thing how had she manipulated the growth of that tree so quickly? Brianna Davis was certainly a riddle and one he intended to solve - and soon.   
One by one the Hobbits faded into various forms of sleep around them. Frodo slept the closest to the fire while the others settled against the thick tree trunks further away. He noted the ella's expression - the slight downward turn of her lips and the furrow of her brow - and crossed his arms. If she was an enemy the he would deal with her when the time came.  
As if she could read his thoughts Brianna Davis met his gaze. Strider remained stoic as one of her eyebrows lifted and she mouthed the word “what?”. He resisted the urge to respond. There was no need to confront her about whatever it was she did as of yet. He didn’t have enough evidence to combat the likely slew of denials she would utter the moment he did so.  
_I will bide my time, lady, and you will reveal yourself soon,_ he thought.  
She held his gaze for a while longer. Then with a shrug she turned away and settled into the nest of leaves and propped her head with his wool cloak he’d given her earlier.


	3. False Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna is irritated and Strider is suspicious. The hobbits are, well, none of the above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As seen on FF.Net

**Chapter 2**   
  
**False Ground**

 

  
  
   
 Brianna woke the next day draped by a ragged, brown cloak. She shifted slightly, unsure of what to make of this strange object. Cloak? When did people start wearing cloaks on Earth? A familiar rank odor met her nostrils and she grimaced.   
_Right_ , she thought,  _I'm not on Earth anymore_.  
She pushed from the ground and glanced around the campsite. Dead leaves and grass clung to the creases in her braided hair. Above was the canopy Strider tied to try and give them shelter from the bit of rain in the night. She smiled while she inspected the clever little leaflets she'd grown and killed silently in the night. They were quickly fading into a soft russet brown and would fall away before Strider could take a really good look at them in the light.  
When Brianna looked away from her handiwork her sight caught the severe gaze of Strider she winked at him. It took every part of her to refrain from breaking character. His expression read mistrust and a sense that something happened the previous night she caused and had not originally made privy to him or the Hobbits. This didn't just make her a curiosity and potential ally. Now it made her a threat. All because she didn't feel like getting soaked to the bone in cold rain and be unable to dry from it!   
She shrugged and looked away to inspect the Hobbits. All four seemed completely oblivious to what Strider had the presence of mind to notice. Sam, for instance, stooped over a little fire making a very light breakfast. Brianna frowned.  
"How much of your provisions do you have left?" She asked.  
"We have some," Sam replied, "from our previous travels, but Strider made certain we packed more."  
Brianna frowned. Sam glanced away from his food to meet it. He simply shrugged.   
"I'm not one, Miss Brianna, to blame you for a hapless circumstance you seemed to stumble in. If you can truly help us, then you're my friend and what's mine is yours," he said.   
She only nodded in reply because what she wanted to say was too rude. To give up food for a stranger! Of course she heard of people doing that, but certainly she posed a different case? Maybe the reality was that hers wasn't so different and she just feeling too sorry for herself. It certainly didn't help matters if that was the case.   
"Where are we going?" Pippin asked.   
"To Weathertop where we might find Gandalf," Strider explained, "but before that we brave the Marshes."  
Brianna blinked and blurted out, "Marshes?"  
Strider raised a brow. She mimicked him while trying not to turn green. Surely he would know why marshes could be undesirable to elves!   
"It will likely be a five day journey if we persevere," he continued.  
She grimaced. Bogs, marshes, swamps - all of these messed with her otherwise perfect senses! That was nothing; however, compared to the moving ground below. It would mean tripping over suddenly revealed stringy roots, stepping into pot holes, and slipping on putrid mud.   
With a very put upon sigh Brianna accepted the rehydrated venison soup he made and gingerly sipped the broth. For something made from rationed camp supplies it was tasty. The vegetables floating soggily within we're all roots - the ones least likely to rot quickly within a pack - and it seemed as though he had made an effort to insert some seasoning.   
"When we enter the marshes we will not be able to cook with flame. The air is too thick and the wood wet. Bread and cheese will be our main course of food," Strider announced.  
Brianna bit her lip firmly to keep the potentially damaging response in her mind from being voiced.   
_This place is too strange to act in any other way. I can't let my guard down!_ She thought, _The elves in Arda may very well have magic, but I don't know anything about it_.   
A glance to Strider confirmed some of that sense. He frowned at her as he ate. His eyes showed both mistrust and suspicion. She frowned and looked away to study the antics of Merry and Pippin who were recounting some adventure concerning Sam and some female hobbit at a pub.   
Her heart throbbed a heavy, sick pang of longing for days when, once, she had that sort of camaraderie. All those days had long since faded when she became engrossed in her hunt for Ba'al. When was it last she smiled like Frodo did at Sam's embarrassment? When last had she been the cause of such embarrassment for her own particular enjoyment?   
_I have loved and lost so much because of that bastard I'd forgotten to live,_ she thought bitterly.  
And, worst of all, she missed her friends - the living and the departed.   
"Miss Brianna, are you alright?"   
Brianna started and turned to face Strider. She reached up to her cheek and touched the dry dampness of the few tears she'd shed. _Oh damn!_ That was not something she'd intended to show anyone!  
"Fine," she replied shortly, "Just memories."  
He studied her a moment longer before asking, "How old are you?"  
She smirked and crossed her arms. At least there was something for her to tease this stoic man about.  
"Bit bold, Ranger. If you must know; however, I am one hundred and fifty-nine years old," she said coyly.   
He raised an eyebrow, "You are quite young for your race. Very few have the permission of their elders to wield their weapons or even be sent into battle."  
She slapped a few fluttering strands of hair out of her eyes and continued eating her food. After a few mouthfuls she decided a bit of personal history to give context was in order.   
"I went to my first battle when I was sixty years old - not even a full adult."  
A sharp hiss met her ears while she studied the remnants of her food. Brianna shifted again so she could meet his gaze directly. The shock in his eyes was apparent and she almost felt pleasure from causing it. If he wanted to be judgmental or suspicious then he needed to face the consequences.   
"I see truth in those words, but for what purpose youths must fight so early in their life I cannot surmise," he said.  
Both shoulders lifted in a shrug and she reached out her bowl arm to hand it back to Sam, "I believe it has something to do with rampant evil and dark forces needing to be monitored. They used to roam free doing damage wherever they may, but my aunt put a stop to that when she founded OLYMPUS. Elves, dwarves, faeries of many kinds, dragons, pixties, and so many more joined to give help anyway they could. Some went on hunts. Some taught important lessons, and some made armor, battle suits, stealth wear, and weapons. Everyone does something and no one is left believing they can do little for the cause. If there are misfits those misfits become lumped together and form their own social team. We're the only ones who do what we do and no one else can replace us. We protect Earth."  
And she smiled, remembering, how she broke from initiate to protégée with six other students - two of which were seniors and consequently above them. The silence that followed her soliloquy startled her from long ago memories and brought her back to Arda. The Hobbits and Strider watched her with rapt attention as if waiting to hear more. She waved them off.  
"That's all for now! Don't we have a swamp to find?" She asked and stood.  
As she marched off to Sam intending to help with the dishes Brianna swore she heard Strider mutter the word "marshes" under his breath. It made her smile. The bastard was about to regret his choice in paths.  
 

* * *

   
“Son of a fucking bitch!” Brianna exclaimed after she slid into a hidden pool of muddy water.  
Aragorn halted and released  long suffering sigh. In a day and a morning the elleth managed to fall just as much as the hobbits did. Irately he turned back to help her out of current situation she found herself in. Brianna and the hobbits were proving to be a right quintet of a nuisance as they made their long trek through the extensive marshlands. The Hobbits were generally uncoordinated. Brianna Davis, on the other hand, had this tendency to become distracted by the dead things of long ago she could spy in the water. Instead of running away from them like most being of the sane classes would she scurried toward them and slipped. If arcane bodies were not her aim she merely slipped around in what Aragorn came to believe as the pair of the most unreliable boots he had ever came into contact with. The moment they reached Imladris he was determined to remover her from the temptation of ever donning another pair again!  
She looked at him now from where she struggled to leverage herself out of the boggy pool as much as possible. He held out a hand. The elleth glared at it for a minute before deigning to accept his aid and allowed him to pull her out. It wasn’t much of a chore. She was light despite the hard grip she possessed and the sureness of her body as it lithely regained its balance.  
“I fucking hate swamps!” She murmured for what seemed to him to be the one thousandth time.  
He turned away from her and the foul language most unbecoming of an eleven lady spewing from her lips. After a few minutes of perceived peace one of the hobbits slipped and fell into a pool. This time Brianna managed to retrieve him without too much failure though Aragorn had to pull both out in this end. That particular instance could have been worse.  
They continued their journey cold and tired and hungry. The hobbits moaned and groaned about needing food and sustenance. Brianna didn't say a word. He’d studied her once during a time of rest where she gazed at the clouds of disgusting bugs floating around seeking the most ideal place to slurp away at their skin.    
“What do you call them here?” She asked.  
“Call what?” He asked.  
She swatted at her arms and pulled a face. Strider allowed a smirk to break his typical stoic demeanor. As was observed by Sam when the minute insects began to infest their bare skin the things seemed to particularly like Brianna.  
“These damn little bastards that keep trying to eat me!” She snapped.  
He chuckled, “We call them midges. It is where the name Midgewater Marshes came from.”  
She pulled a face and hissed another foul name that made Strider wince.  
“We call them mosquitoes,” she said after checking the bare places on her body over again.  
Strider wasn’t entirely sure how to take this small offering of information. He didn’t have much time to digest it because Sam suddenly found himself and their little pony, Bill, knee deep in boggy water. This time it was Brianna who released a long suffering sigh and began to move in their direction. He grabbed her arm and shook his head.  
“Stay with the other hobbits and don’t stray too far from them,” he said.  
He wondered if she would argue with him, but Brianna merely turned away and approached a very much amused (and covered in boggy muck) Frodo. Strider watched her a moment longer before he moved to help Sam out of his predicament.  
“Steady there Samwise Gamgee! Let me find a firm foot to pull you out,” he said.  
Sam stopped moving and managed to calm Bill from where he was stuck three feet or so away while Strider searched for ground that was the least soft. In this instance, much to his annoyance, there wasn’t much he could choose from, so Strider made the best of one place that seemed the lesser of many evils. He reached out with a branch in one hand and the pony’s reigns in another. Carefully he began to tug them forward.  
The hobbit and the pony slowly began their ascent out of the boggy pool they collectively disturbed. Strider worked the branch stepping and leaning when needed. As Sam and Bill seemed to approach the bank the ground beneath Strider’s boot shifted and he halted his progress. Sam and Bill ceased their ascent both frozen in place while Strider allowed the ground to settle. He moved backwards a foot onto surprisingly solid ground. This allowed Sam and Bill to move forward a fraction more.  
With each later step Strider found his foot met with a firm patch grass. He didn’t complain nor did he turn to look at the one he suspected was responsible for he sudden stable ground. All that mattered was retrieving Sam and Bill from the bog which he did. He allowed Brianna – who somehow managed to find dry kindling and logs in a boggy swamp – to light a fire for Sam to get warm.  
“I would chide you for not watching where you were going, Mr Gamgee, but I would be a bit of a hypocrite if I did,” she chided good teasingly.  
Sam laughed, “I wouldn’t say that, Miss Brianna. You’re accidents are more on purpose than mine. I couldn’t see the bog. You just keep getting distracted.”  
“Well, yes, but the preservation of the bodies! I’ve never seen swamps keep them in such pristine condition on Earth! You must give this historian a bit of leeway as she pursues a point of study,” she replied.  
Strider watched her interact with Sam as the two proceeded to concoct a broth based soup for the rest of them. Frodo interjected a few quips in Sam’s defense while Merry and Pippin helped toast a few slices of bread. She smiled at whatever it was Frodo said and pulled a few stray strands of bronze hair away from her eyes. The slight moldy wind played a cheerful dance with her braided, clumped, strands. Her cheeks and neck were stained with mud and there were several tears in the fabric of her uniform. Yet her skin faintly glowed in the waiting afternoon light as if she was a faint star in the sky.  
She was attractive. She was cheerful. She got along well with the hobbits. She also had some sort of command over the earth around her.  
She was very dangerous.

* * *

 When they finally stumbled out of the marshes on the fifth day all of them were in some bedraggled state. High hills rose before them and caused a groan of discontent from the hobbits. Despite that particular pending torment all of them agreed it was a sight better than staying a day longer in the marshlands.  
"Where are we?" asked Frodo though his question was more directed at the runes than the hill country.  
"The Weather Hills. That is Weathertop, The Old Road. We may reach it tomorrow at noon if we head straight towards it. I supposed we had better do so," explained Strider with a slight frown on his face.  
"Why suppose exactly?" Brianna asked while inspecting her nearly ruined boots.  
"Simply that when we do get there I am uncertain as to what we may find. It is close to the road," he informed her.  
Brianna nodded, "And let me guess, the road is lower than the hills?”  
“Far too low. We will be too far out in the open and completely vulnerable,” Strider agreed.  
“Yet we don’t want to wait at this Weathertop,” she clarified.  
“Indeed,” he replied.  
Brianna frowned and crossed her arms. If this Weathertop was close enough to the road then it would be easy to get to. She shook her head.  
“If your aim is to avoid being seen this is far too risky,” she stated.  
Strider inclined his head, “I know. My reservations are similarly inclined.”  
Brianna stared at him unsure of exactly what to make of this new develop in their tense relationship. To hear this man openly agree with her seemed incredibly absurd, yet there it was. The hobbits were open books. She knew where most of them stood and even Sam, the least trusting, didn’t seem too threatened by her. In fact there were moments where he seemed incredibly awed by her presence, but Frodo had told her shortly after meeting that Sam had always wanted to see and speak with an elf. She was the first one who spoke the common tongue in complete, easy to understand sentences. Which was saying much since she came from a world that managed to put a few men on the moon thus sparking a fervent science fiction space odyssey trend in literature.  
And she had yet to even talk about that yet.  
"But surely we were hoping to find Gandalf there?" asked Frodo from his place beside Brianna.  
“Who is this Gandalf I’ve heard so much about?” She asked.  
“He’s a wizard,” Sam replied with a shudder.  
“He’s part human?” She asked.  
Wizards on Earth were children of elves and humans. Sometimes the magic skipped generations as the elven blood was overtaken by a thickening human bloodline, but they existed and influenced the world of men in their own way be it nefarious or otherwise. With wizards it was far more difficult to decipher which side they were on.  
“Are wizards part human in your world?” Strider asked.  
“Yes.”  
“Gandalf is far from human. I suspect he may even be more powerful than the most powerful elf in Arda,” Strider replied.  
Brianna cocked her head to one side unsure of what to make of this. Did Strider know something? Could he see it?  
_That,_ she thought, _almost sounded like a threat._  
“To answer your question, Frodo, the hope his faint. If he comes this way at all he may not pass through Bree, and he may not know what we are doing. unless by luck we arrive almost together, we shall miss one another; it will not be safe for him or for us to wait there long. If the Riders fail to find us in the wilderness, they are likely to make for Weathertop themselves. It commands a wide view all round. Indeed, there are many birds and beasts in this country that could see us, as we stand here, from that hill-top. Not all the birds are to be trusted, and there are other spies more evil than they are,” Strider explained.  
Brianna knew she looked just as white as Frodo did at the mention of untrustworthy animals. What kind of place was this? Birds couldn’t be trusted? She met the smaller man’s gaze and made herself smile.  
“Well, we should at least test the waters. It may be that hot wizard friend somehow managed to catch up with us, though I hope to the Triune he didn’t brace the swamp,” she said cheerfully.  
Strider merely shook his head and stepped into the hills beyond. Brianna followed behind the hobbits while periodically glancing at the sky. She could try to shield them, but with the land so wide and open it wouldn’t be done without considerable effort.  
_Or at least without special powers. They would know what I am by then. It’ll be  impossible to hide it if I do that_ , she thought.  
The proceeded in silence. The air felt calm – normal – and not much different from typical hills that stretched for miles before ascending into high towering monoliths. Strider explained to her about the geography and how, if they continued straight into the east, their company would find themselves climbing the Misty Mountains. Despite this small talk Brianna felt uneasy though she couldn’t decide if it was because they were being followed or watched.  
_Probably both_ , she decided after they stopped for camp.  
As the hobbits curled around the middle of the group to better keep warm. Brianna sat with Strider while they watched the night unable to sleep. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. The breeze cheerfully danced around her face and she sent out feelers into its domain.  
_Where are the enemies? Show me where they lurk. I know they’re here. Follow them and report to me. Warm me when they venture too close. Search,_ she willed.  
That was all control over the elements were in the end. One’s ability to will each atom of air, each molecule of water, mineral of earth and particle of fire all depended on their mastery of them. Brianna could almost boast of having a will of iron. Almost.  
“What sorcery do you participate in?”  
She opened her eyes, “What?”  
Brianna looked at Strider who gazed ominously at her from under his hood. In the night, even with her enhanced elven vision, he was certainly a horrifying sight to behold. She purses her lips and crossed her arms. Strider didn’t even flinch.  
“I’m no sorceress. I kill them,” she said for emphasis.  
“So you say, yet I can sense the change in the wind. It answers to you like it does no elf. Only sorcery can explain such. The earth, when I struggled releasing Sam from the marsh’s trap, became sturdy and easy to move about on. There is no elven power like it in Arda,” he said.  
Brianna raised her chin haughtily and replied, “Then you should be glad I am not from Arda, Ranger.”  
“You will remember that you live so long as I deem you harmless to my charge, Huntress.”  
Silence descended between them like the blade of a guillotine. The progress Brianna hoped she had made with the man seemed to have been severed from its makeshift body. Neither moved, or spoke, or allowed a single thought to break their gaze.  
“I will remind you once, human,” she said softly, dangerously, “I do not harm what is not evil. I hunt the monsters of the night. I am the fire that rages against the darkness, the ice to dark flame, the tremor of the earth that will bring down their fortresses. I am the wind and the rain and the fire above. My blade is the bane of the undead and the dark living. I have brought down dynasties of darkness with my rage and my power. You are being followed by people who want to harm you. I do not believe a single one of you have an evil bone in his body. You will never have a thing to fear from me.”  
Strider didn’t seemed moved an inch by her words; however, he was the first to remove his gaze. Brianna turned away as well and gazed out into the night. Not a shadow stirred in the west. She wasn’t surprised. It was far more likely their enemies road ahead and not followed them from behind.  
“If you are what you say you are, can you not understand my reasons for distrust?” He asked after a while.  
Brianna didn’t reply for a while. She simply watched the clouds above and observed the breaks that revealed silver stars glittering above. Foreign stars, strange lands, and strange darkness. She shifted her attention to the ground and allowed a frown to grace her lips.  
“Of course. Doesn’t mean I won’t try to make you believe me,” she said.  
They didn’t speak again for the rest of the night and Brianna didn’t sleep a wink and remained awake long after Strider fell into an uneasy sleep leaning against the same rock he sat against since they took watch together. Bitterly she smiled and shook her head as dawn crept over the horizon where the Midgewater Marshes were still visible.  
  _Don’t trust me my ass_ , she thought.  
At midmorning she woke them. Strider didn’t bother trying to defend himself. For that Brianna was grateful. She had enough of cowards groveling before her like kicked puppies and shaking bunnies. The ranger clearly had balls and she certainly could respect that. Just as she could respect the informed innocence of the hobbits as they conversed amongst themselves the distressing realization each of them were losing weight.  
Brianna smiled cheerful without quite knowing the reason why.    
     
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 


	4. The Lady of the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna's teammates deal with the aftermath of her disappearance and their enemies engage in a questioning ritual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As seen on FF.Net

**Chapter 3**

  
**The Lady of the Hunt**

 

  
Artemis ven Turthin, head of the organization OLYMPUS and great aunt to the elven queen, tapped the top of her pine desk irately. Lips pursed into a thin line while Matthias Smith and Karen Gillian hesitantly related the events of Stonehenge and the disappearance of Brianna Davis. They fell silent long before she actually noticed they ceased in their chatter. Her mind was too distracted – too lost in consideration – to notice something as trivial as that. Nothing else mattered than this one thing: she lost the elven queen, again.  
It wasn’t the first time Brianna had disappeared. She’d hidden herself among the human race and followed the Professor around for many, many years before she was found again. She was brought back by one of the OLYMPUS elves and set to rule as their queen when she abdicated and left them scrambling – trying to pretend her cousin was king when the opposite was true – and dedicated her life to revenge.  
She shook her head. _My niece certainly has an inclination for  drama,_ she thought.  
“What kind of portal do you think The Morrighan created?” Artemis asked.  
“One that took Brianna away from this world. She isn’t here,” Matt said.  
Artemis nodded and leaned into the back of her leather armchair. The Morrighan had created a doorway into another world. Why? What had she to gain from breaking the wall between their world and I other. What had she to gain from that venture? By all accounts her niece had plunged one of her fire-laced daggers into the bitch’s chest.  
She’s killed two Raiphahim now. More than that she’s rid the world of the two worst to walk among us. Ba’al’s carefully laid plan to overthrow the royal line has failed. The Morrighan’s plan, whatever it was, is now in jeopardy. Are we done? Is this the end?  
“I don’ know what The Morrighan was up to, but I can say I saw something between the stones,” Karen said.  
“What was it?”she asked.  
“An eye made oot of flames,” she said and Artemis could hear her Scottish brogue thicken her accent.  
But she wasn’t particularly paying attention to the witch’s accent. She had felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at the mention of the eye. An eye wreathed in flame. The good professor had many stories to tell about a dark being – like a lesser angel from their realm – as evil as Abandon who was hell bent on striking out the light of his world. If Brianna was there… if their enemies were trying to get there…  
“Well shit!” She spat and stood.  
The moron that she was had left her phone in her room and she needed to make a call.    
 

* * *

    
Laurel Moruni, professor of historical and cultural studies hated plane rides. They were incredibly dull affairs in which at least two hundred people sat in a small confined space and waited for the rickety contraption that was an airplane to land three to five hours later. Somehow the humans managed to pass the time by reading, writing, watching some inconsequential tripe on Netflix or Amazon, or sleep. Thankfully she had the funds for first class seating. It kept her from having to deal with other people’s children. She already had brain dead university students whose eyes were supposedly opened by their never-lived-in-reality professors in the first four years of their schooling. Experiencing the result of this brainless drivel they call education as it attempted to reproduce was extraordinarily unappealing.  
There was only one student of hers she cared about and apparently she managed to get herself trapped in Arda by her own enemies. The Lady Artemis wasn’t exactly frantic in the voice message she left her, but the strain in her voice was evident. The Lady of the Hunt was rarely afraid and days when she showed that fear were less evident.  
If only this fear was unfounded. Then I could go back to my ridiculous students and forget it, she thought.  
Laurel opened one of her notebooks and began to jot down everything she remembered about Arda, their elves, their rulers and the Dark Lord Sauron. She’d only visited the place three times. There was little she actually knew and that little she knew was ominous.  
If Sauron has regained his strength like Mithrandir predicted I can’t imagine what sort of thing could entice him to fight with the knight elves, she thought.  
What made it worse was that she couldn’t pinpoint the person behind these dark plans. The Morrighan was dead and it should have heralded the final end of a movement that Brianna tried stamping out years ago. Her contacts over the world told a different tale. There were multiple sacrifices at ancient places. Their enemies were vanishing from the face of the earth.  
“We are nearing Juno, Alaska. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for descent,” the stewardess said over the intercom.  
Laurel stowed the notebook back into her bag and leaned back into her seat. She turned her head toward the window and dully watched the ground grow closer.  
Dull indeed.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
Mafortion Japethelion waited for his mother to exit the plane and enter the airport terminal. He wondered what she looked like as He hadn’t seen her for almost fifty years. Did she cut her hair into a bob? He knew she’d considered it once in the roaring twenties. The years had separated them for long stretches at a time. Briefly they would meet again, but only to leave each other again to go about their business in their own way.  
Terminal fifteen began to disembark. People crowded out of the plane as quickly as they likely border so they could continue on in their journey. After ten minutes a tall red headed woman trailed out of the plane behind a gaggle of teenagers chattering excitedly about the idea of skiing in the mountains. Maf felt himself tense as his mother moved around them and glanced around the terminal with grim green eyes.  
He raised an arm and her eyes snapped to his. He smiled wanly. Being friends was difficult for the both of them, but more so for him than for her. Maf still looked at her as his mother. She saw him as her equal and expected as much from him. Such had always been her way whether he wanted it or not.    
“I distinctly remember you telling me that airplanes will pave the way towards the future. I’m inclined to disagree. They’re just as unpleasant as stage coaches,” she said brusquely.  
“They rejected my designs,” Maf said offhandedly.  
Professor Laurel Moruni smirked at him, “For someone who knew the Wrights personally you certainly haven’t retained much influence with the airlines.”  
“I’m not as influential as I look, mother,” he responded dryly.  
“Clearly. I’m assuming Artemis contacted you as well?” She asked.  
Maf pushed air through his nose very slowly so as to not make it seem like he was frustrated with her. Professor Laurel Moruni hadn’t birthed young children in five hundred years. He needed to remember that motherhood wasn’t extended to those who no longer needed it.  
Some motherly concern would be nice, though, he thought.  
“Karen called me. I was Brianna’s teacher at OLYMPUS. I suspect she thought I should know,” he said.  
His mother nodded, “As you should.”  
Silence descended between them like an iron curtain. Maf walked her down to the baggage claim. The silence dragged on as they watched technicolored boxes, bags and thick camouflaged duffles tumbled onto the conveyor belt. Childers squealed as they dashed to snatch up their little pink and blue suitcases. Business suit clad adults dipped casually to grab a solid plastic contraption colored in different shades of black or blue while clutching briefcases. Laurel crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the ceramic floor before she reached down and grabbed a strapped brown bag.  
“Brianna is our apprentice respectfully. We must search for her dutifully as is the right earned by her as the person we have virtually raised at different stages of her life. Never let it be said that anyone I consider my own be abandoned because I simply felt too old to care,” she said as they ventured out into the rapidly depleting autumn afternoon.  
Maf, who could never think of a day when his mother hadn’t watched over her children or her students, simply nodded and directed her to the garage he’d stored his car for the hour he’d waited for her. Fifteen thousand years Professor Laurel Moruni walked the new creation she was born. Every fiber of her being had been dedicated to protecting it from the harms servants of the Evil One sent against them. For centuries she watched over the human races and mitigated their petty disagreements to churn their leaders further away from selfishness and conceit to the betterment of their people.  
They stopped before his mode of transportation and she turned to him with a slight quirk of an auburn brow. Maf shrugged and pressed the buttons of his remote keys that unlocked his 2017 Jeep. Laurel rolled her eyes and loaded her bags into the back. It wasn’t like he would ever get to use it to enter OLYMPUS, but he liked toying with the clever new contraptions the car company fit into it.  
They were in Anchorage, Alaska and it was going to take about an hour to drive towards the nearest small town. Once they past it a hidden street to the elven haven for OLYMPUS would open its gates to them and they could cut through the mountains.  
_Our dwarf friends must have enjoyed building that,_ he thought fondly.  
His mother shook her head, “I did help them design it to allow the drivers to exit where they needed to.”  
He sighed and backed out the parking space. One day she would learn to stop listening to people’s surface thoughts and memories, but it was clearly not this day.  
 

* * *

    
OLYMPUS was a great fortress built around the top of the mountain and straight down into it. Once it had been a volcano that liked to spew magma from within every chance it got. The elves and the dwarves dug and sifted and warded and magicked until the pressure subsided and allowed the hot liquid rock settle within its chamber. Periodically they had to redirect pressure to another volcano, but that was rare. At least, that was the story Artemis chose to stick with. Maf was never entirely sure about her complete honesty. The huntress certainly acted like an elf who spent time in court when she wanted to. Lady Artemis met them in the large entrance hall and bowed to Professor Moruni and even to Maf though the one she turned him wasn’t  low nor reverent.  
“You know why we’re here?” Artemis asked Laurel.  
His mother inclined her head, “My student’s unending ability to land herself into trouble, I presume?”  
“However did you know?” Lady Artemis asked.  
“I’ve met her.”  
“What, exactly, has my wayward apprentice landed herself in?” Maf asked.  
Part of him, a small part of him, needed them to remember that he was in Brianna’s life since the beginning. He was the one who taught her how to fight without magic. He taught her the importance of using runic equations to give her an unexpected edge. He’d protected her against Ba’al when the bastard neatly sliced and diced her best friend and lover into a pair of ribboned flesh and bone. The Professor may have taught Brianna how to use magic and think as logically as she could, but Maf taught her how to survive.  
“The Morrighan was performing a ceremony of a most gruesome nature at Stonehenge five days ago. Brianna, Matt and Karen ambushed them. My niece killed The Morrighan and in turn, as the bitch died, the Morrighan pushed her through whatever tear between the worlds and we haven’t seen Hyde nor hair of her since,” Artemis explained.  
“And that flaming eye? Karen is certain she saw it?” Laurel asked.  
“It seems to be the case. I’ve sent Matt to Stonehenge and asked for Loki and Ailya’s presence in Roswell and Cairo. They will likely have some sort of an answer to this conundrum, but all we know, now, is that something is wrong with whatever separates us from Arda.”  
Maf frowned and crossed his arms. Grey eyes met his green ones and he studied Artemis for a while. She was trying very hard to hide it, but the signs were there. A worried hunter or huntress was never a good sign this; especially, if said huntress was Lady Artemis who was rarely shaken.  
“Few can walk through the worlds without help. The Morrighan likely utilized a ceremonial series of sacrifices,” Laurel said softly and crossed her arms.  
“With so many points of entry,” Maf muttered and raised one dark brow at the Lady Huntress.  
Artemis’ eyes contracted into smaller points. Her skin paled. Beside him Laurel tensed and sucked in a quick breath.  
“You don’t think-,” Laurel breathed.  
“I’ll bet my remaining years of youth,” Maf replied confidently.  
Artemis didn’t contribute. She had whirled around toward the staircase and whipped out her phone. As she thumbed several texts in quick succession Maf heard her mutter “shit, shit, shit.”  
Despite the gravity of the situation he smiled.  
 

* * *

   
Mab had once been a queen of the fair folk in the older, darker days. Those days had been filled with the high fae terrorizing the petty humans who lived in the triple islands. She enjoyed playing with their mortal kings and queens, twisting their hearts and minds one way and then the other, giving them everything they wanted even if they thought they didn’t want it. A child would be stolen to live in her court for a time. When it was old enough she sacrificed it to the void beyond for the power it gave her.  
Such a time passed away with one swift strike by the “Wise Queen of the Elves” as all the Fae whispered. Mab never fought for the love of her people. She didn’t think she needed to. When they turned on her in favor of the elven queen there was little she could do save flee. Flee she did – far into the wild – and hid for many long years biding her time until the day came when The Morrighan found her hunched over in her hovel with a proposition of revenge.  
Now she stood at the cusp of it all. The Morrighan was dead – killed by the very whelp of the elf queen Mab hated – and she was the only one left. All who worked for the goal she had were slowly defeated in the past millennia.  
Until now.  
The three sorceresses of night stood in a circle at the center of the crumbling throne room. Once it had been the palace of the elven kings of Greece. The golden age of sorcery among the elven nobility many said. Mab certainly held that opinion. It began with King Zeus’ attempt to stamp it out of his family. Queen Athena ended it by sealing Hades and Persephone into the seventh gate of hell and slaughtering her crazy brother, Aries, after fifteen years of hiding.  
Nyx, Hecate, and Daenith, the elven sister of Morgan’s le Faye, began to chant, swaying in the middle of the room. Mab drew in a breath as the air began to smell of sulfur and rotten flesh. The middle of the room’s floor cracked and crumbled away around the sorceresses. She stepped forward to an empty edge.  
She laughed and jumped into hell.


	5. Wraith and Fire

**Chapter 4**  
  
**Wraith and Fire**

 

  
  
It took a day and a half for the little company to reach Weathertop. Brianna’s boots were basically useless by then. Her heals hurt, back itched, and everything about her person smelled something most foul. All of them reeked of the swamp and the added smell of unwashed male offended her sense of smell.  
For a moment, as they trekked higher into the hills, Brianna considered cutting a rune into her wrist to lessen her sense of smell to that of a human’s, but later decided it wouldn’t help much. She was determined to put up with it until they came across a river or stream to bathe in.  
They climbed to the top of the hill. Once reached Brianna felt a chill crawl up her spine. Before them loomed a wide ring of ancient stone-work, now crumbling or covered with age-long grass. Clearly there was a time when the place had harbored a tall watchtower, but the circular walls were no longer connected and nine dilapidated pillars remained. It reminded her a little too much of Stonehenge and the fell power that crackled in the air the night The Morrighan worked her dark magic.  
Almost unconscious of the motion Brianna gripped her elbows with opposite hands to keep her body from giving into the need to shake. The moment she let herself break it would be over for her and any confidence she would have gained with Strider and his hobbits would be lost. She blinked.  
_Fear is the mind killer_ , she thought and smiled.  
With more effort than she would have liked to admit Brianna took stock of the surrounding monoliths and their land. In the center of the circle was the remnant of a fire. Curious she crossed the short distance and knelt by the ashes and burnt stone. As quick as a thought she dabbed her right forefinger and middle finger into the ashes and slipped them into her mouth. She cocked her head to one side and considered the tale the ashes told.  
“This fire is about a week or two old. It hasn’t lost all of its carbon components quite yet,” she said.  
They stared at her. Brianna’s brows furrowed then her eyes settled on her fingers. She cast her eyes to the sky.  
“I’m not explaining Carbon. It would take too long and a doctorate in chemistry which I don’t have,” she said.  
“You… put ashes in your mouth,” Sam remarked.  
“I’m an elf and a huntress. My tastebuds are in a class of their own,” Brianna said primly.  
“Well, here we are!” said Merry who seemed to think it best to change the subject. “And very cheerless and uninviting it looks! There is no water and no shelter. And no sign of Gandalf.”  
Brianna returned her attention to the dead fire and silently inspected the ground around it. People who sat around warm places typically left clues of their presence. She hoped Gandalf was one of those people. While the men spoke and worried she found what she was looking for: a stone with runic markings on it. She cocked her head to one side.  
“Does this mean anything to you, Strider?” She asked and held out her hand with the stone nestled in her palm.  
Interrupted from his thoughts Strider bent down and gently brushed his fingers against her skin as he took the stone. Brianna tried very hard not to notice exactly how callused his fingers were and watched him study the bloody thing.  
“The stroke on the left might be a G-rune with thin branches,” said Strider. “It might be a sign left by Gandalf, though one cannot be sure. The scratches are fine, and they certainly look fresh. But the marks might mean something quite different, and have nothing to do with us.”  
“More Rangers than you, Strider?” Brianna asked sweetly.  
“Yes,” he replied and left it at that.  
She stood and began to inspect the circumference of their camp ground. There wasn’t a stitch of magic in the air, yet something felt off. She frown and glanced at the sky. Strider had said earlier while they were climbing to Weathertop that some of the birds were on Sauron’s side. She heard the hobbits meander around while her windsense stretched into the beyond. What was it? Someone had to be watching them somewhere.  
Vaguely she heard the conversation between Strider and the hobbits.  
“What could they mean, even if Gandalf made them?” asked Merry.  
“I should say,” answered Strider, ‘that they stood for G3, and were a sign that Gandalf was here on October the third: that is three days ago now. It would also show that he was in a hurry and danger was at hand, so that he had no time or did not dare to write anything longer or plainer. If that is so, we must be wary.”  
To the southwest she felt the mass of darkness and the disturbance of hooves on a dirt road. The dust of Arda shuddered and the land beneath cried out to her in response to her presence in the wind. The need to fight in the earth overcame her with such ferocity that Brianna opened her eyes with a gasp and stumbled a few steps backward. Once she regained her composure she noticed the men were quite.  
“What was that?” Strider asked though she likened it more to a growl.  
Brianna ignored him and turned in the direction of the road. From her vantage point she had a perfect view of the land below and spied five shapes on black horses. They rode toward each other: two together and three others separately galloping from the east to meet them.  
“We’re not making camp here,” she said softly, “Those black riders you mentioned are in the area and may have already seen us.”  
_But, that wasn’t what I sensed. They were not what the wind warned me about. Not entirely,_ she thought.  
At once Strider flung himself on the ground behind the ruined circle, pulling Frodo down beside him. Merry threw himself alongside. Sam and Pippin stayed low by the far pillars. Brianna frowned at the movement, but moved with them as well and settled herself on the other side of Strider while he looked over the tall grass over the hobbits’ heads.  
“The enemy is here,” he said in a tone Brianna suspected to be bitterness, but wasn’t quite certain.  
“I gathered that. What are we going to do about it?” She hissed.  
He looked at her and she raised one eyebrow. Strider slid away from the pillar and crawled low towards the other side of the hill back the way they came.  
“There is a hollow at the base of the hill. We will rest there tonight,” he said.  
“That is possibly the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” she snapped quietly.  
“Do you have a better one?” He asked.  
Brianna didn’t respond. She did, in fact, but the consequences of that idea meant giving up her identity as a wielder of the elements. She didn’t want to give that up just yet.  
“Evidently not or I would have suggested it by now,” she hissed.  
“Then we go to the hollow and wait out the enemy,” Strider said with a finality that left no room for argument.  
Sam and Pippin had already disappeared over the hill before them. Strider rose into a crouch before slipping around one of the stone pillars only to vanish a moment later. Merry followed soon after at full height. Hobbits were easier to miss than they as their kind didn’t seem to grow beyond three foot five. Frodo didn’t move from his place at the edge of their pillar. Instead he gazed at her, thoughtful.  
“You lied to Strider. You do have a plan,” he guessed.  
_Well fuck! Why aren’t they oblivious like everyone else!_ She thought.  
“It probably wasn’t a good one anyway,” she said.  
For a moment Brianna feared Frodo would press the matter further. Instead he stood and traveled to the edge of hill top. In a moment he sank temporarily beyond her sight. Truly alone for the first time in days Brianna elected to remain sitting for a while. The Riders were still some ways off. She didn’t think they would arrive after ten minutes of them spotting the bastards and spending time alone was quite appealing.  
_I’m alone in a strange world with a man who’s so suspicious of me that one wrong move might get me killed and four short men who have varying degrees of naïveté_ , she thought. _And now we’re being followed by dark riders and, possibly, something else that I can’t place. It would be so much easier to protect them with magic, but if I try to do that I’ll probably alienate Strider. I don’t want that. If I alienate him then I’ll do so to the others. I need their trust before I protect them with magic, but I might not have a choice in the matter anyway._  
She crawled to the edge of the hill and craned her neck to get a glimpse over. Strider was outside the hollow. A slight tilt of his head gave her enough of a view to determine that something was troubling him.  
_Good. Something isn’t right. He needs to be worried,_ she thought.  
The Morrighan ripped open a portal to Arda. In the end it didn’t matter what the bloody servants of some half-alive Demi-God were looking for. What mattered, ultimately, was why the half sister of Ba’al needed to enter a world oppressed by dark magic and lived in fear of every shadow in the land.  
With that thought she slid onto the slope and allowed her body to creep close to the ground a minute before standing straight to meet Strider at the bottom.  
 

* * *

  
 “I know few people who are actually good at brooding. You certainly out-brood them all.”  
Strider didn’t start from his reverie. He’d heard her feet disturb the earth as she slid those few paces down the hill before walking the rest of the way.  
“Sam and Pippin discovered some troubling clues on our campsite,” he informed her.  
Brianna stepped beside him and clasped her hands behind her back and asked, “Is it Gandalf, rangers, or something else?”  
“I am… unsure.”  
In the distance they could see the marshes spread out before her. At the edge of the marshes was green flat land that grew into a grey-green terrain as the land rose gradually into rolling hills. They were high hills now, great and looming, and grew higher the more west one traveled.  
“At least the hollow faces the direction we want to go,” she said.  
He rewarded with a wry smile in answer. It was strange. He didn’t trust her yet he did like her. That display on the top of the hill confirmed something he had suspected her able to do for a while. Elves in Arda did have the use of magic, but it was a weak grasp at best and no where near the talent of wizards.  
Brianna Davis, it seemed, could use magic in a way wizards weren’t allowed. She hasn’t seen the Riders first. She’d sensed them somehow and Strider didn’t know if her power was based on sorcery or not. It didn’t seem so, but the enemy was a mastermind in lies and manipulation.  
_The ring doesn’t like her,_ he considered, _she may be trustworthy._  
“We found what seems to be the boot prints of a man, but I fear it is an armored one. If such is the case I fear we might face the enemy whether we wish to or not,” he said.  
“It’s my experience that running typically prolongs the inevitable. We’re going to have to deal with them eventually,” she said.  
There was a Note of bitterness to that sentiment. He hadn’t met many elf women or spoke with many for a prolonged period of time. He only knew one and their friendship was strained. Yet, he had never known them to be bitter about life. Indifferent, yes, depending on their age, but not bitter.  
“Forgive me for asking, Brianna, but how old are you?” He asked.  
She smiled, but didn’t look at him as she replied, “One hundred and sixty nine years as of February of this current year.”  
_She’s not even two hundred years of age?_ He wondered. I’ve never met an elf as close to my age as she.  
A dead weight settled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t met many elleth, but he did know from Arwen and Lord Elrond that they rarely left their homes before the age of two hundred. The ones who elect to learn the art of war linger for years longer than most to better hone their skill in combat.  
“When did you first see battle?” He asked.  
Her smile faded and a haunted expression overtook her face. Strider was faced with the discovery that he didn’t like to it. Such an expression unsettled him for it to come from an elf maiden so young and so vibrant.  
“I was sixty-five years old. I was many years yet from adulthood, but my team and I… we wanted to fight, pushed for it, and got what we deserved. I was sixty-nine when I had to take lives as an act of mercy off of the battle field. And I set the bastard on fire who ruined millions of people,” her final words were blunt, bitten out, and aggressive, “I burned him and his wife and his lieutenant.”  
And she smiled the smile of a person who did not lose sleep over exacting justice in such a violent way. Strider fought back a shiver. He wasn’t cold, but the look in her eyes was steel.  
“Why did you feel the need to enact such a… wrathful punishment?” He asked more out of morbid curiosity than particularly wanting to know.  
The haunted expression returned, “I have a few regrets in my life, but what I regret the most is my inability to help the children who felt the hand of my mercy.”  
“They were… children?” He asked.  
Strider didn’t know whether he should have been horrified for her or of her. To be in a position where the kindest thing to do would be to end the life of a child shook him.  
_Yet, I’ve heard of instances where it was needed_ , he thought.  
“Yes,” she whispered and closed her eyes.  
“What happened?” He asked.  
When her teal eyes opened again they burned with a hatred unparalleled by many. Strider was taken aback.  
“They took them, turned them into mindless creatures and mutilated their bodies into something that wasn’t even human anymore!” She spat and turned to him. “I don’t know this enemy of yours, but if his crimes are of a similar nature he will rue his very existence!”  
Strider, for the first time since meeting her, firmly believed she wasn’t going to hurt Frodo or any of them. There were monsters everywhere. It was rare to meet someone who actually made a point to hunt them.  
“I believe you,” he said voice barely above a whisper.  
Brianna’s eyes contracted and brows raised. He smiled despite feeling grim at the revelation of a piece of her past. It was nice to leave her dumbfounded every once in a while. Because he did believe her. She was no threat to them. More importantly he knew now, for certain, by her passion at a memory she shared that she would protect Frodo and the hobbits.  
It was a step.  
“Come, we should take shelter before the night comes,” Strider said.  
He led her into the hollow. The hobbits had already built a fire and Sam set up the cooking pot. The soup smelled appetizing, but there wasn’t much in it. Much of their supplies had been eaten by the addition of Brianna though she attempted to keep to one or two light meals a day. He could, and would, hunt if needed.  
Brianna sat next to Pippin and was drawn into a conversation about this thing called ‘Chemistry’ and ‘science’. He was certain what any of that was, but he nestled himself comfortably in the back of the hollow and allowed himself to relax for a moment. The Riders were some ways off and likely wouldn’t be in the area for another hour or so.  
The night came and the air grew cold. Strider, used to such conditions, remained sitting with only his cloak about him. The hobbits unloaded their warmer cloaks and blankets from their packs. Frodo offered one to Brianna, but she shook her head and remained close to the fire.  
“Tell us more about Gil-Galad,” Merry implored after a lull in the conversation took root like a weed.  
“I’m fascinated by it,” Brianna said, “especially as the lay you were chanting sounded a bit more historical than fictional.”  
Strider chuckled, “It is certainly history for it concerns our quest greatly. However, the name of the Evil One and his stronghold is spoken. I think it may be best we defer to a later date. I do not wish to attract what hunts us.”  
Sam looked to Brianna, “You’re an elf and elves sing. What songs do you know?”  
Strider looked to her curiously. He hadn’t heard a melody pass her lips, true, and maybe that had to do with the tragedy of her past. Instead of looking forlorn; however, Brianna flushed red and began chewing on her lip.  
“I… well… my people. We have songs. I know a bit, but I know more human songs of all kinds. Some of them have influenced in our language. My people influenced much of human culture and human culture influenced much of ours,” she stammered.  
Frodo leaned forward, “Well have at it, then! Sing for us.”  
All of them watched Brianna as she squirmed in her seat. Strider tried very hard not to smile. Something about her manner was refreshing to behold and it delighted him for a reason he couldn’t fathom.  
Despite her evident embarrassment she regained her composure and began to sing:

  
_“Nil Se'n La Chuaigh mé isteach i d_

_teach aréiris d'iarr mé cairde ar mhnaoi an leanna._

_Is é dúirt sí liom_

_"Ní bhfaighidh tú deor._

_Buail an bóthar is gabh abhaile_  
_I came by a house last night_

_And told the woman I am stayingI said to her:_

_"The moon is bright and my fiddles tuned for playing"_  
_Tell me that the night is long_

_Tell me that the moon is glowing_

_Fill my glass, I'll sing a song_

_And will start the music flowing_  
_Never mind the rising light_

_There's no sign of day or dawning_

_In my heart it's still the night_

_And we'll stay here till the morning_

_Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,_

_solas ard atá sa ghealaigh._  
_It's not day nor yet a while_

_I can see the starlight shining_

_Níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,_

_solas ard atá sa ghealaigh._  
_Fill the glasses one more time_

_And never heed the empty bottle_

_Turn the water into wine_

_And turn the party up full throttle_  
_Don't go out into the cold_

_Where the wind and rain are blowing_

_For the fire is flaming gold_

_And in here the music's flowing_  
_Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,_

_solas ard atá sa ghealaigh._  
_Tell me that the night is long_

_Tell me that the moon is gleaming_

_Fill my glass, I'll sing a song_

_And we'll keep the music streaming_

_Until all the songs are sung_  
_Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,_

_solas ard atá sa ghealaigh._  
_Níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go maidin,_

_níl sé ina lá is ní bheidh go fóill,_

_solas ard atá sa ghealaigh.”_

 

Strider grinned at her as did the hobbits. Brianna, for her part, turned an endearing shade of red and drew her legs up to her chest so she could bury her face in her knees and arms.  
“That wasn’t so bad,” said Merry, “In fact I think you have a nice, pleasant voice Miss Brianna.”  
“Thank you Merry,” she said as her head lifted from its nest, “That’s very kind of you.”  
Strider wondered at her modesty. Her voice was beautiful with the way it controlled itself to fit the mood of the song. When she sang high notes…  
_She doesn’t quite appreciate how beautiful her voice actually is_ , he thought.  
“Do all elves sound like they’re angels?” Pippin asked.  
Brianna blushed again and mumbled, “I learned how to sing from a very fine soprano. Unfortunately, the purpose of my tutelage was to make my voice sound like it had potential so I could hunt for a delusional vampire in an opera house. He, also, tutored me and helped me learn how to bring finesse and control to my song. Then, of course, I drove a stake through his heart and cut off his head so he would stop eating any more lead sopranos he’d tutored.”  
Strider snorted. It wasn’t necessarily an amusing story, but the irony of needing to kill one’s master because he was eating people was not lost on him. Neither her, it seemed, because she grinned at him.  
“Alright, Strider, you avoided singing so far. It’s your turn. What do you have to offer?” She asked coyly.  
He sat back in his place at the back of the hollow, “I will tell you the tale of Tinúviel,” said Strider, “in brief –for it is a long tale of which the end is not known; and there are none now, except Elrond, that remember it aright as it was told of old. It is a fair tale, though it is sad, as are all the tales of Middle-earth, and yet it may lift up your hearts.”  
He was silent for some time, and then he began not to speak but to chant softly:

 

 _“The leaves were long, the grass was green,_  
_The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,_  
_And in the glade a light was seen_  
_Of stars in shadow shimmering._  
_Tinúviel was dancing there_  
_To music of a pipe unseen,_  
_And light of stars was in her hair,_  
_And in her raiment glimmering._  
_There Beren came from mountains cold,_  
_And lost he wandered under leaves,_  
_And where the Elven-river rolled_  
_He walked alone and sorrowing._  
_He peered between the hemlock-leaves_  
_And saw in wonder flowers of gold_  
_Upon her mantle and her sleeves,_  
_And her hair like shadow following._  
_Enchantment healed his weary feet_  
_That over hills were doomed to roam;_  
_And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,_  
_And grasped at moonbeams glistening._  
_Through woven woods in Elvenhome_  
_She lightly fled on dancing feet,_  
_And left him lonely still to roam_  
_In the silent forest listening._  
_He heard there oft the flying sound_  
_Of feet as light as linden-leaves,_  
_Or music welling underground,_  
_In hidden hollows quavering._  
_Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,_  
_And one by one with sighing sound_  
_Whispering fell the beechen leaves_  
_In the wintry woodland wavering._  
_He sought her ever, wandering far_  
_Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,_  
_By light of moon and ray of star_  
_In frosty heavens shivering._  
_Her mantle glinted in the moon,_  
_As on a hill-top high and far_  
_She danced, and at her feet was strewn_  
_A mist of silver quivering._  
_When winter passed, she came again,_  
_And her song released the sudden spring,_  
_Like rising lark, and falling rain,_  
_And melting water bubbling._  
_He saw the elven-flowers spring_  
_About her feet, and healed again_  
_He longed by her to dance and sing_  
_Upon the grass untroubling._  
_Again she fled, but swift he came._  
_Tinúviel! Tinúviel! He called her by her Elvish name;_  
_And there she halted listening._  
_One moment stood she, and a spell_  
_His voice laid on her: Beren came,_  
_And doom fell on Tinúviel_  
_That in his arms lay glistening._  
_As Beren looked into her eyes_  
_Within the shadows of her hair,_  
_The trembling starlight of the skies_  
_He saw there mirrored shimmering._  
_Tinúviel the elven-fair,_  
_Immortal maiden elven-wise,_  
_About him cast her shadowy hair_  
_And arms like silver glimmering._  
_Long was the way that fate them bore,_  
_O’er stony mountains cold and grey,_  
_Through halls of iron and darkling door,_  
_And woods of nightshade morrowless._  
_The Sundering Seas between them lay,_  
_And yet at last they met once more,_  
_And long ago they passed away_  
_In the forest singing sorrowless.”_  
_(*Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring*)_  
 

He caught Brianna’s look as his song faded into the night. She seemed pale as the moon and her skin flowed underneath the grim that coated her unwashed body. Something about his song must have shaken her.  
“What is it?” He asked.  
“I… know of Beren and Luthien. I read it… in my professor’s old journals from the years she learned to step between worlds. The things she saw, the people she met, the histories she recorded: The war between Mor-,” he cut her off.  
“No! Don’t say the name!” He snapped.  
This seemed to jolt her from the trance of memory and Brianna inclined her head. The glow dimmed a bit to a shimmer that reflected the flickering light of their fire.  
“Continue, Strider,” she said in a tone that was decidedly steady.  
Confused by what, exactly, shook her composure Strider returned his attention to the hobbits who watched the exchange with rapt interest. He closed his eyes and recalled history. The two who ultimately began his lineage and allowed for all of their descendants to choose a long life or a short mortal one.

  
“That is a song,” he said, “in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it. It tells of the meeting of Beren son of Barahir and Lúthien Tinúviel. Beren was a mortal man, but Lúthien was the daughter of Thingol, a King of Elves upon Middle-earth when the world was young; and she was the fairest maiden that has ever been among all the children of this world. As the stars above the mists of the Northern lands was her loveliness, and in her face was a shining light. In those days the Great Enemy, of whom Sauron of Mordor was but a servant, dwelt in Angband in the North, and the Elves of the West coming back to Middle-earth made war upon him to regain the Silmarils which he had stolen; and the fathers of Men aided the Elves. But the Enemy was victorious and Barahir was slain, and Beren escaping through great peril came over the Mountains of Terror into the hidden Kingdom of Thingol in the forest of Neldoreth. There he beheld Lúthien singing and dancing in a glade beside the enchanted river Esgalduin; and he named her Tinúviel, that is Nightingale in the language of old. Many sorrows befell them afterwards, and they were parted long. Tinúviel rescued Beren from the dungeons of Sauron, and together they passed through great dangers, and cast down even the Great Enemy from his throne, and took from his iron crown one of the three Silmarils, brightest of all jewels, to be the bride-price of Lúthien to Thingol her father. Yet at the last Beren was slain by the Wolf that came from the gates of Angband, and he died in the arms of Tinúviel. But she chose mortality, and to die from the world, so that she might follow him; and it is sung that they met again beyond the Sundering Seas, and after a brief time walking alive once more in the green woods, together they passed, long ago, beyond the confines of this world. So it is that Lúthien Tinúviel alone of the Elf-kindred has died indeed and left the world, and they have lost her whom they most loved. But from her the lineage of the Elf-lords of old descended among Men. There live still those of whom Lúthien was the foremother, and it is said that her line shall never fail. Elrond of Rivendell is of that Kin. For of Beren and Lúthien was born Dior Thingol’s heir; and of him Elwing the White whom Eärendil wedded, he that sailed his ship out of the mists of the world into the seas of heaven with the Silmaril upon his brow. And of Eärendil came the Kings of Númenor, that is Westernesse.” **(*Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring*)**

  
He found Brianna looking at him again, this time with a calculating gaze as if she was solving a complex equation. She seemed as if she would ask him something, but her head jerked to the wide opening of the hollow. Teal eyes narrowed and Strider followed the path of her gaze with his own and saw only night. She reached for her sword – he sometimes forgot she carried one with the way she strung it over her back discreetly – and stood.  
“You dare come?” She breathed, “You who know these men are protected?”  
Strider beckoned to the hobbits, “Grab hold of the longest sticks and be prepared for whatever enters!”  
He looked at her. Brianna’s gaze was fixed upon the opening. Her sword was thin but long and made to for someone who was slight to face someone armored or not. It could block all but the strongest made swords and had the reach and a thin enough point to skewer.  
“Is it the Riders?” He asked.  
“Yes,” she confirmed, voice strained.  
_And what else?_ He wondered but didn’t have the heart to ask.  
The hobbits were already uneasy. Merry and Pippin huddled on the ground unable to face whatever approached. Something entered. It wasn’t a rider nor was it a friend. It was an elf, or something Strider believed was an elf. This elf wasn’t what he was expecting. A sinister air grew around its manner. His skin was different shades of sapphire and obsidian. What strike him more were the eyes that gazed at them with a cruel grin like a pair of blood rubies.  
“Erebus,” Brianna said, voice cold, and smiled.  
Strider felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He had seen elves, naturally good natured creatures, turn into cold, calculating killers before. Brianna was on another level entirely. The presence she gave was feral. She was a huntress and there, in front of her, was her prey.  
“I’m happy you still remember me, Doctor Brianna Davis,” the elf said.  
His voice was sinister. A chill crept around Strider’s heart and he calmly switched the long stick into his left hand and placed his other on the hilt of his sword. Whatever this elf was, whatever sorcery he possessed, it was evil. Figures of shadow, tall and terrible, looked behind Erebus. Strider counter five and heard three of the hobbits whimper.  
Slowly he stood and stepped around the fire to place himself the opposite side of Brianna. She didn’t look at him, but Strider didn’t doubt that she knew he was there.  
“Haven’t heard that title in a while. Typically I evolve from elf-bitch to please-don’t-kill-me,” Brianna quipped.  
_She’s going to fight the… thing and I will fight the riders,_ Strider thought.  
Erebus struck first. Brianna blocked his sword of obsidian and pushed him away and out into the wilderness beyond. The Black Riders surged into the hollow. Two past him and Strider engaged three of them ferociously swinging his sword and his flaming stick. In the confusion Strider though he heard Frodo cry out, but he couldn’t be certain.  
What he was certain about was that he could light every single mother’s son of them on fire which is what he did. The wraiths screamed and dashed away from the group. He turned on the remaining to and hit them with the fire. They were already distracted, though by what Strider didn’t know. The Riders slipped away back into the night smoldering and burning.  
Brianna’s battle wasn’t over. In fact it had escalated to a full display of magic on her part. Fire bathed her in a bright golden light and attacked Erebus. The elf – Strider supposed it was an elf though he was reluctant to call it as such – fought her magic with a burning black substance he couldn’t identify. She rushed into both her fire and the black magic and physically assaulted Erebus. The elf ferociously threw her off of him with a blast of magic. Strider felt his heart thud in his check and he lifted his sword and charged the elf.  
Erebus seemed surprised when Strider’s longsword swung for his neck. He seemed stunned Strider could roll out of the path his destructive black magic traveled. When Strider thrust the point of his sword into the elf’s stomach Erebus gaped at him.  
“A human? A human can hit me?” He asked aghast.  
Strider didn’t reply and moved to finish the blow, but the elf, through some dark sorcery of his own, melted into the shadows and disappeared. Strider waited several minutes before allowing his guard to drop. He looked to the direction Brianna was thrown and found her staring at him with an expression that bordered on awe. She stood before he could move to help her, swayed in place for a moment, and then regained composure.  
“Well, Strider, that display was certainly impressive,” she remarked.  
“As was your fire,” Strider replied pointedly.  
Brianna took an unsteady step forward. Her eyes looked glazed. Strider stepped towards her, took her by the shoulders and held her still to study her. Parts of her exposed skin on her chest and arms had black spots on them.  
“What is this?” He asked.  
She blinked and glanced down at her collarbone, “A burn.”  
Strider thought about responding to her, but thought better if it. Gently he helped her back into the hollow where the hobbits waited. He started. Frodo lay prone on the ground unmoving. With haste he moved towards the young hobbit. Brianna followed close behind and the two knelt down beside him.  
As he inspected Frodo’s unconscious body for wounds and immediately found one. Next to him Brianna hissed out a sharp curse.  
“That wound… where is the blood? There’s barely any,” she asked.  
That particular symptom troubled Strider and he was thankful she noticed as well. He stood. Brianna didn’t move, but she did look up at him, eyebrow raised.  
“He needs to be kept warm,” he ordered.  
She glared, “I can do that, but Strider where -,” He turned and left before she could finish.  
There were times when listening to the counter argument would be counterproductive.  
_And if that wound was made from what I suspect, Frodo doesn’t need Brianna and in to argue. He needs medicine,_ he thought.    
 


	6. A Cause for Concern

**Chapter 5**   
  
**A Cause for Concern**

 

  
Brianna wasn’t unaware of the danger Frodo was in. In fact, after studying the wound more thoroughly, she saw the troubling nuances of the dark blade that inflicted it. She was also quite certain the tip of the blade was lodged inside. There wasn’t much she could do about the wound, but she made some effort. She cleaned it with water, disinfected it with some heat, and placed him near the fire to keep warm.  
By that point the fire had died down and the logs turned to ashes. She glared at it until it rose from the ashes into a full blaze that she alone controlled. Satisfied with her work Brianna checked over the other hobbits and, upon discovering all of them were well, saw to her wounds.  
Deft fingers gingerly prodded her collarbone and neck. She winced. Dark fire wasn’t much of a curse, but it certainly inflicted a well-rounded sting. It’s use was still troubling.  
_I mean, not to be overly melodramatic, but why the fuck did they not try to kill me? She_ wondered.  
Resigned to the fate of being unable to have most of her questions answered at this present time, Brianna unzipped her leather vest and slipped the first layer off. A most assuredly not white anymore tank top was revealed.  
“Sam, you have some pots, can I, perhaps, borrow a few?” She asked absently.  
He didn’t respond for a few moments. Brianna didn’t notice. She’d observed the burn had spread to her shoulder and chest just a small bit. No, they weren’t trying to kill her, but Erebus had certainly meant to incapacitate her. With black fire of all things! She could stop that little minor curse very quickly. And she would, but she needed that pot first.  
“Um, miss Bri, you’re a bit unclothed,” Sam piped up tentatively.  
She looked sharply up at the hobbits than back down to her dress. What on earth did he mean by that?  
_Oh… oh!_ She thought.  
In her battle vest and pants she looked relatively clothed, though she was quite certain she’d caught Strider’s eyes roaming to her ass occasionally. A tank to was probably close to scandalous for these incredibly sheltered hobbits.  
“I’m not unclothed, Sam, but if I don’t treat this I will have to be soon if it spreads. Hand. Me. A. Pot,” she said sternly.   
To his credit Sam did, though he kept his eyes closed while handing the thing to her. Remarkably he managed it to trip. He returned to the fire where Frodo lay and Merry and Pippin watched over him. Brianna sighed, shook her head, and drew moisture into the pot. By now the hobbits knew she could use magic, so she wasn’t too concerned about freaking them out. She closed her eyes and called to the land, asking for a good plant to use for curses. The flora seemed to respond almost as if it was alive and she pulled some roots into mid-sized ferns. She crumbled them up and placed them in the pot. Carefully she warmed the water’s temperature to a boil and then cooled it down to a comfortable warmth. With a flick of her wrist a stream of the water jumped into the air and surrounded her burn. A soft, barely heard sigh escaped her lips.  
When was the last time she’d even bathed? It had to be almost two weeks. She eyed the lightly steaming pot hungrily.  
“What has happened? Where is the pale king?”  
Startled from her reverie Brianna turned to glance at Frodo and smiled, “Welcome back to the land of the living, Master Hobbit! You missed the moment when Sam discovered that women’s skin isn’t made of cloth!”  
Frodo looked at her dumbly then blushed when he noticed she was devoid of her tunic. Brianna grinned at them all. Wherever it was they lived clearly they didn’t see much of the feminine body.  
“Now,” she said turning serious, “What did you mean by the pale king?”  
“You didn’t see him?” Frodo asked.  
Brianna looked down at her water-covered wound and shook her head, “No, I was otherwise occupied by whom I am assuming to be their keeper. Strider fought off the black Riders, though.”  
Frodo, bless him, looked confounded. Brianna wasn’t surprised. According to Merry the poor boy had put the bloody ring on his finger and was injured while he was invisible.  
“Unless you mean the Black Riders? What is under their cloaks, anyone know?” She asked.  
“Nothing any of us are likely to see if we are lucky.”  
Sam started and grabbed a log to brandish it at Strider. Brianna rolled her eyes.  
“You don’t have to scare the poor guys, Strider. You could just announce yourself. Where the hell did you go, anyway?” She asked.  
Strider walked past Sam, who had placed the log back into the fire, and sat next to Brianna. He didn’t seem overly concerned that her top half showed more skin than it normally did. Oddly, Brianna was a bit disappointed. Part of her took pleasure from making the man squirm.  
He wasn’t staring at her, though, but at the plant next to her. She raised an eyebrow.  
“Athalas. How did you…,” he blinked and breathed out, “You made it grow.”  
She nodded, “It’s a thing I can do.” Brianna glanced longingly at the pot before waving her hand in its direction, “If it will help Frodo’s wound use it. I made enough.”  
He stared at her, expression devoid of any emotion, which told her that he was unsettled again. Strider wasn’t always easy to read, but Brianna had caught on to his tendency to wipe away all expression from his face.  
“Thank you, Brianna,” he said and moved the pot to where Frodo was to wash and dress his would.  
Brianna sighed and checked her own wound. The charcoal stain on her skin was slowly receding. She glanced at the plant Strider had named “Athalas” and tilted her head ever so slightly.  
This stuff works fast. How exciting, she thought.  
Frodo recounted his side of the story. After the elf appeared and Brianna threw him out of their refuge the Riders had pushed their way in. The two who glided past Strider and the hobbits were struck with a great fear. Frodo; however, was compelled to put on the ring which he did. When he did so the Riders before him turned into pale kings.  
“You mean they actually looked like kings?” Brianna asked, halting Frodo’s story.  
“Yes, but they seemed muted. It was as if they were ghosts, but yet weren’t,” he tried to explain.  
Brianna didn’t need him to go into further detail. She fixed her eyes on Strider.  
“Necromancy? These are soul wraiths. Elven necromancers can’t do that and Raiphahim and The Fallen need a lot of help to do it,” she said.  
“Help had been given,” Strider said, “the Nine are bearers of rings of power made by The Dark Lord.”  
Of course they are! She thought.  
“So the rings keep them here even after their bodies are gone? If we removed the hood we would see semi-corporal spirits?” She asked.  
“Essentially, yes,” Strider confirmed.  
Brianna, disturbed, nodded for Frodo to continue his story. The hobbit explained how he drew his sword in response to the pale king’s appearance and attacked him crying the name of Elbereth. He struck the king, but also felt something like a poison dart jab into his shoulder.  
Strider, once told all beckoned for Sam and Brianna to follow him to the front of the hollow and a little bit outside. Once they were well out of earshot Brianna crossed her arms and waited for Strider to say whatever it was he felt he needed to.  
“What is it?” She asked.  
“I think I understand things better now,” he said in a low voice.  
“What sort of things?” Sam asked.  
Brianna uncrossed her arms and placed a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder. She met Strider’s blue gaze.  
“You seem to have a diagnosis of Frodo’s wound, or something more of an educated guess?” She asked.  
Strider nodded and continued, “There seem only to have been five of the enemy. Why they were not all here, I don’t know; but I don’t think they expected to be resisted. They have drawn off for the time being. But not far, I fear. They will come again another night, if we cannot escape. They are only waiting, because they think that their purpose is almost accomplished, and that the Ring cannot fly much further. I fear that they believe your master has a deadly wound that will subdue him to their will.”  
Brianna swallowed. The wound had been cursed, but she hadn’t been sure what that curse was and how it worked. Strider seemed to be implying that…  
“Are you saying Frodo’s turning into a wraith?” She asked.  
Sam choked with tears and she drew him into a hug. Something about the hobbits brought out her rarely used maternal instincts and this was serious news.  
 “We shall see!” Strider said hastily. “Don’t despair! Your Frodo is made of sterner stuff than I had guessed, though Gandalf hinted that it might prove so. He is not slain, and I think he will resist the evil power of the wound longer than his enemies expect. I will do all I can to help and heal him. Go back to him now, I must speak with Brianna.”  
Sam retreated into the hollow. Brianna watched him go for a minute before glancing at Strider. He looked grave and she wasn’t certain if it had anything to do with her or not.  
“What healing do you know?” He asked.  
She shrugged, “Enough to stay alive. I can make Frodo comfortable, maybe even still the pain for a little while, but I cannot cure him.”  
Strider sighed and looked worn, almost haggard. It was as if he became both younger and older – young in how lost his expression seemed and old by the worn tan of his face and beard – and Brianna felt for him. Tentatively she rested her right hand gently on his left arm. He looked at her eyes sad.  
“How long until we reach Imladris?” She asked.  
“Fifteen days with luck on our side,” he responded.  
“We don’t need luck I have magic. What do you need from me?” She asked.  
Hope sparked in his eyes again. Brianna knew when to recognize it. She’d seen that very war in her own real irises for so many years. He relaxed ever so slightly and whatever age Strider was showed less. He looked much younger, like he was twenty-eight instead of the forty or so he appeared, and Brianna smiled softly at him. When was the last time she’d ever felt like a comforter?  
_I’ve fought for fifty years and I haven’t felt this much compassion and empathy in a long time. What is wrong with me?_ She thought.  
Something of that thought must have been reflected in her eyes because his gaze softened and he clasped her hand in his, “I need you to focus as much of your power on keeping Frodo alive. The plant you grew is called Athalas. It looks like a weed, but it has healing properties unmatched by many plants and will give Frodo relief for a time. I must go for a time. I have need to search the land. I must gather food for us and discover which way is the best for us to go.”  
He let her go and stepped into the night. Brianna watched him for a time until the land obscured him from view. She stepped back into the hollow and helped Frodo with his wound.  
 

* * *

   
Far into the downs by the road that led from Bree a Knight Elf stood before the wraiths licking their proverbial wounds. None had completely expected resistance. Erebus had known Huntress Davis was with that little party of rugged travelers. What he hadn’t anticipated was the competence of the human guiding them.  
The human was a large man, a little over six feet tall, with shoulder length matted black hair and an equally scruffy black beard. His eyes had been focused, calculating, and clearly singleminded when attempting to kill his opponent. Brianna Davis was a different fighter, of course, as she favored setting eighty percent of her enemies on fire and then slitting their throats the rest of the time. Fighting her was fun and led to ingenious tricks that kept him on his toes. This ranger didn’t bother with flamboyance. He would simply kill his enemies and nothing more.  
It was a problem; however, a problem that needed solving soon. Both elf and human would be a liability in their quest for the ring. They would resist them at every turn; especially Brianna who could have vaporized him and made the Nazgul miserable for many weeks if she hadn’t been fighting with caution. Such a problem couldn’t be dealt with slowly not with the sensitive nature of their mission.  
_Her wish to not harm others has always been a weakness,_ he thought. _We can use this to our advantage_.  
Erebus stood before the Riders with a dark frown marring his otherwise beautiful face. One of the kings, he noticed, had lost his dark cloak. Because he was a sorcerer Erebus was able to see the faint outline of the Witch King.  
The wraiths were certainly pale. Eyes stared at him from sunken sockets and a mockery of skin could be made out from the shadows. All of the nine were like this: suspended between the living and the dead. Mab had helped them appear more solid in the world, but couldn’t fix their appearance. He would need to find new cloaks for them.  
“Are you certain the hobbit had the ring?” He asked.  
“I saw him clearly as if my sight returned,” the Witch King hissed.  
Erebus remained calm. He needed to. Mab’s deal with Sauron depended on his ability to remain level-headed. The wound in his stomach throbbed as the magic from Armaros – one of the first angels to turn against the Triune – but he refrained from displaying any outward pain. Such weakness would be the death of him if not by the Nazgul then by Mab.  
“And you stabbed him with…” he asked.  
“A morgul blade. The blade has a curse that will ensnare and turn him into our thrall. Then we will take the hobbit to the dark lord,” the king said.  
Erebus breathed out a long drawn out breath. Sometimes he wasn’t surprised Sauron was able to break them.  
“Did you see the elf-woman?” He asked patiently.  
The five collectively hissed. Erebus waited for them to finish their display. The Nazgul seemed to have an increased sense of each other’s collective thoughts that was unattainable by conventional means. If one felt displeasure the others did as well. Minions who could work as a cohesive unit would help matters greatly in the war to come. Unfortunately all would be lost if they didn’t take care of a small problem.  
“Evidently you did,” he remarked dryly, “Let me enlighten you of her. She has powers beyond any elf in this world. She will find a way to kill you, rings or no, and she will discover the best way to ensure Baggins survives. The ring can’t enter Rivendell. Help me capture her and your master will have two treasures beyond all measure.”  
“Capture?” The Witch King hissed.  
Erebus chucked, “Yes, of course! Her great uncle Hades hasn’t seen a single member of his family for three thousand years. He would be delighted to see his niece. Let it not be said Lord Erebus of Shadows keeps families apart from each other. I love only to reunite.”  
“Why?” The Witch King asked.  
It didn’t matter why, though Mab had plans for the great granddaughter of Zeus ven Turthin, but he couldn’t convey them to the Nazgul. Not all of them at least as there were some talking points he could convey.  
“She is the granddaughter of the bitch who trapped Lord Hades and his wife the Lady Persephone into the seventh gate of hell. My Queen Mab wishes to keep her alive to offer Lord Hades a boon for his services. Services, I may add, that will benefit your Master,” he explained.  
_So long as Queen Mab continues to find him useful,_ he decidedly didn’t add.  
They only had one goal. It had been outlined ever since Queen Mab pulled Hades, Persephone and Aries from their prison. Brianna Davis was their target. She was one of the best hunters in OLYMPUS. They needed to tread carefully or they’d lose Baggins, the Ring, and Doctor Davis.  
“The Dark Lord will have Baggins and the elf-witch. We will ensure it,” said the Witch King.  
Erebus smiled and replied, “Of course. I suspect you will.”  
   
 

* * *

  
   
Strider returned to find that no ill befell his companions. Brianna, free to use her magic without fear of recourse, had set traps along the perimeter of their camp. He had no illusions about being able to avoid them. She’s heard his approach thirty minutes prior would have disengaged the traps along the path he took. For that he was grateful. He had no wish to be on the receiving end of such a malevolent bit of trickery.  
She sat by the fire helping Sam cook a soup of a bit of their remaining supplies. The firelight reflected in her long braided hair. He found himself held in momentary awe by how her hair reminded him of bronze. Elves typically had three types of hair color: silver, blond and brown. While there were a few different shades they were few and far between. None of them could ever be described as arrayed with bronze.  
Brianna turned her attention to him and slowly stood. The tunic she had worn was still discarded on the ground, but the dark burn had disappeared. She smiled, a cautious one, as their truce remained tentative. Strider nodded to her, but felt no longer felt mistrust. The attack had proven her for the ally she was.  
“I found more of the plant and then a few for Frodo’s pain and discomfort. There is little in this wilderness, but a few medicinal herbs grow,” he said and handed the stems and carefully cut roots.  
She stared at her hand, eyes wide, and asked, “How did you know I’ll need this?”  
“I know the land and have grasped a rudimentary understanding of the nature of your magic,” he said.  
He turned away and inspected the entrance of the hollow in the daylight. A black cloak pooled on the stone in a crumbled heap. Strider knelt and lifted it up to inspect. A tear near the hem was the only indication of a wound inflicted.  
“This,” he said, showing the cloak to him, “is the evidence of Frodo’s defense. It is; however, the only damage done to the enemy.”  
Brianna reached for the cloak. Strider handed it to her solemnly and watched as she inspected the cut made by Sting. She frowned.  
“When Frodo put the ring on he could see through these cloaks,” she muttered and glanced at the hobbit who was now awake and watching, “I honestly can’t think of any enchanted jewelry that can plunge a person into the world between life and death.”  
Strider observed her as she closely studied the cloak. It clearly bothered her though he couldn’t fathom the reason why. One hundred and sixty-nine years of living and she’d spent most of it studying and fighting monsters and shadows. Her insight would be valuable, though likely nothing older elves like Lord Elrond hadn’t already divined. Despite this Strider believed it best to hear her conclusions on the matter of the ring with the little information they could give her.  
While Brianna thought quietly to herself on matters of the otherworld Strider inspected the ground below again. The object he found turned his blood to ice.  
“This,” he said and drew the gaze of the others, “was more dangerous to Frodo.”  
He held up a long knife notched at the end. As it caught in the light the blade melted to the hilt. Brianna started and went white.  
“Son of a fucking bitch!” She cursed.  
She rushed to his side and took the hilt from him to better inspect it. Strider observed her real eyes and how they widened in horror at what she saw. Slowly she turned to gaze at Frodo with a look of utter horror etched along the lines of her eyes and mouth.  
“What is it?” Frodo asked.  
“A blade of dark magic. The curse is evil and its purpose is to enslave you to their will. You will fade away until you become little more than a shade to them – lesser than the black rider who stabbed you – all for the purpose of obtaining the ring,” Strider explained.  
Brianna looked pale and her eyes were fixed on the handle with the expression of one who had seen something disgusting and needed to glare at it until it went away. Strider watched her trace the hilt with one small but thin finger. Her eyes burned and body coiled like a tense spring.  
“I can do something for Frodo with what we have and with my skill, but not much else,” she told him after a while.  
He nodded, “Do what you need to do.”  
Wordlessly she handed the hilt back to him and moved back towards Frodo. Strider looked from her to the hilt of the knife. Brianna didn’t seem worse for wear after touching it. Elves of Arda could barely brush against evil relics of the past let alone a cursed knife carried by one of the black Riders.  
_But you are not from Arda,_ he thought, _and I suspect we will all be reminded for as long as you walk among our peoples._  
 

* * *

   
_I hate curses! They’re tricky and terrible and make me feel weak for not being able to do anything about them!_ She thought irately.  
Brianna bent to inspect the wound and surrounding limbs. The arm connected to his shoulder, she told him, was rendered useless by the curse. Gently they worked to heat more water and crush the leaves of the Athalas plant she’d already grown. Brianna, for her part, took out her knife and began to boil water around the blade.The metal became hot to where a red sheen glowed around the edge. Carefully she cooled it just as the leaves reached a boiling point and filled their little camp with a fragrant aroma.  
“The smell makes my wound hurt less, but I can’t really lift or feel my arm,” Frodo told them.  
“I’ll fix that bit for you, Frodo, but you’re not going to enjoy the process,” she told him.  
She circled her index finger in the air and their concoction of leaves and water began to lift into the air in a steady stream. Brianna turned to him and pointed the knife’s point at his arm.  
“I’m going to need you to lift your sleeve,” she instructed.  
“Why?” He asked.  
“Best you just do it,” she said gravely.  
Frodo nervously began to roll up his sleeve. She watched him while keeping note of the blade’s temperature. She didn’t want it to cool down too much, just enough so it would only cauterize the wound she was about to inflict as small as it might be.  
“Take a deep breath Frodo,” she instructed and readied the knife.  
He did and Brianna sharply stabbed the point into his forearm. He cried out and she willed the water to thin into a near microscopic stream before it entered his muscle tissue and the one blood vein she dared open. Then she pushed the remaining water back into the pot. Sharply Brianna heated the knife again and pressed the flat of the blade against his skin. Frodo cried out again, this time much louder, and Strider moved to hold him in place. Brianna removed the knife from his skin and lifted the Athalas infused water to press against the burn and soothe it into a healing stance.  
“What did that do?” Sam asked.  
“This will give Frodo some use of his arm, but not for long and I won’t be able to do this again. Infusions like this are bad for anyone’s body let alone a hobbit’s. if I had a needle and an infusion bag it would have been a different story, but I don’t,” she said.  
“What do we do now?” Asked Merry.  
“Leave as quickly as we can,” Brianna said, “Though I wouldn’t suggest trying to make Frodo walk. I don’t think he’d make it.”  
“He wouldn’t,” Strider agreed, “we will put him on the back of Bill and divide the packs between us.”  
All of them turned to look at the once-thin-now-fattening pony grazing on a bit of grass in a little mock-pen Sam has concocted for him. Brianna hadn’t given much thought about the pony. It hadn’t been of much note other than to observe Sam’s clear and present love for the thing.  
“Will he be able to keep Frodo on his back?” Pippin asked.  
“It’s… possible. He can support the weight of packs,” Brianna said.  
“We will have to make due. The going will be slower, but I suppose we can’t help that,” Strider said.  
They set about gathering their things and eating a fast cold meal along the way. Brianna used bits and pieces of leather and cloth to pull together a very rough saddle for Frodo. When they strapped him into it the hobbit seemed to be stable and Bill wasn’t too worse for wear with the added weight.  
Once all looked as secure and ready as the could make it Strider led them out to the east with every intention of cutting past and over the road and into a heavily wooded area where firewood could be easily accessible. Brianna led Bill with every intention of keeping an eye on Frodo. Her thoughts were far away from their journey and her charge; however, for each thought in her head warred with her consciousness concerning Erebus.  
The knight elf couldn’t be the only one that crossed over. There had to have been more than just him.  
_I can’t even make an educated guess,_ she thought, _Erebus, according to my aunt, hadn’t declared for anyone for a very long time. Who on earth is he working for?_  
“I feel a bit better,” Frodo said after a while.  
She smiled at him, “Good. It won’t last forever, but it might help for a while.”  
They continued on in what Brianna assumed was a comfortable silence. She was lost in her thoughts concerning Erebus. A sense, a small piece of vital memory, was lost on her recollection. She couldn’t pull it no matter how hard she tried. Once, maybe, a long time ago when she still actively practiced her scholarship, but those days were gone.  
_Twenty-five years gone to be exact,_ she thought morosely.  
“Thank you, Miss Davis,” Frodo spoke and effectively shattered her train of thought, “you’ve been particularly kind to us even if we always haven’t.”  
She smiled, “My people exist as servants and protectors. I never would have abandoned you no matter how untrusting you were.”  
She was referring more to Strider than the hobbits. The latter had been surprisingly trusting of her presence yet possibly the most in danger. Carefully she led Frodo and Bill over a set of jagged rocks.  
“I’m afraid,” he said, “I don’t want to turn into a wraith.”  
“I won’t let that happen!” She said just a tad too passionately than she meant, “We will get you to Rivendell alive. I promise you that.”  
_No more,_ she thought, _no more failure. This time Frodo will live._  
  



	7. Friends of a Name

**Chapter 6**   
  
**Friends of a Name**

 

  
“You’re pain’s been getting worse and you didn’t bother to say a damn thing? Are you trying to die and piss me off, Frodo, because you’re doing one hell of a job!”  
Strider looked up from where he helped Sam cut the last of their potatoes. Their elf friend was in rare form today with her foul language (most unbecoming of her race) and indignant worry. Frodo, for his part, merely sat on the ground nearest the fire and took her ranting in silence. It didn’t escape his notice that the young hobbit’s eyes were cast to the ground and doing their best to avoid meeting her gaze. He didn’t blame his charge in the least as it seemed that a Brianna on edge and worried was not an ideal Brianna to displease.  
“She’s got a right foul temper on her, Strider,” Sam muttered.  
Strider didn’t respond. Sam wasn’t used to elves and likely didn’t know that Brianna could hear them in such close quarters. Despite this she didn’t give a hint that she heard the remark as she laid upon Frodo’s shoulders a great and terrifying dialogue of all the cruel things she was going to do to him if he ever ignored his wound again.  
Brianna was right to be concerned. Strider had made the call to make for the road despite his misgivings. Reason; however, won out. The land in the wooded hills became too impassible save for The Last Bridge. There was no helping it. They had to cross and it meant returning to the road.  
Frodo remained silent as she set about inspecting his wound. She backed away looking grim.  
“Well, there’s not much I can do about it. You need the hands of a real healer. I’m not. I may have been able to help stave off the more lethal effects until Rivendell, but even then I can’t be sure. Sit by the fire and eat something. I’ll scout around,” and with that she faded into the growing shadows.  
Strider moved and placed a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. The young hobbit held his hands clasped before him. The firelight cast deep shadows on his face that promoted deep ridges once covered by healthy fat. All of them looked less like happy country folk and more like wild children of men. Sadly, Frodo looked far too pale to be both healthy and of the wild.  
“Just now,” Frodo said in a small voice, “she reminded me of Gandalf. He would have said the same thing.”  
Strider grimaced a smile, “That he would have. It is a shame we could not meet up with him. The wisdom of wizards would have been welcomed.”  
The other hobbits joined them. Sam offered Frodo a bowl of the finished soup. The invalid gingerly took the offering in his uninjured hand, set it on the ground and began to eat. Sam ladled food out for Merry, Pippin and Strider before taking some for himself.  
“I’ll keep the pot over the fire so Miss Brianna can have some when she gets back,” Sam muttered and sipped some of the soup.  
“I suspect she will be grateful for the gesture,” Strider said.  
The hobbits ate their food. Frodo took his time as he only had one hand to work with at that moment. Once all were finished they huddled around the fire and tried to fall into varying degrees of a fitful slumber. Strider watched the flames absently as he considered the road they needed to take.  
“We will soon be on the road.”  
He looked over his shoulder at Brianna who approached as silently as a stalking cat. Elves were quite good at not being heard. The darkness, it seemed, held no sway over her. Faintly her skin glowed white like moonlight. As she approached the fire it did not abate and reflected the orange flames. She lowered herself next to him and smiled.  
“But,” she continued, “there isn’t a sign of the enemy, so that’s a blessing. A bit of one at least.”  
“They must be waiting for Frodo’s condition to deteriorate,” he remarked.  
She nodded and turned away from him to watch the flames. He noticed much of the dirt and grime had been washed off of her skin and clothes. Her hair, once pulled back into a tight braid, now spilled over her shoulders in long bronze waves. The tips of some strands were longer than the others as if she purposefully cut them to frame her body in a certain way.  
“Busy, were you?” He asked.  
Brianna didn’t ask what he meant and shrugged before answering, “I didn’t go to the river. I had to find a secluded rock pile and bring water to me. Where I come from people, humans included, wash their entire bodies every day. The grime was driving me nuts.”  
Strider repressed a smile. Such a… feminine urge! It was endearing.  
“In such a case I am surprised you made it this long,” he said.  
She snorted, “I wasn’t going to bathe around men. Besides, you couldn’t even handle me taking my tunic off. I certainly couldn’t bathe around you!”  
Strider remembered. She had been far more appealing than he’d originally wanted to admit. Elves of Middle Earth were typically tall and thin with very little else to recommend them other than a stagnant beauty. Arwen, Elrond’s daughter, was an example of an exception to the rule and only because she had human blood, however distant, running through her veins.  
“Did your family mix with humans?” He asked.  
“Oh yes, that’s far more common on earth than you would think. We have to protect you. That’s our creed, but by the Triune you lot breed like rabbits!” She said, laughing quietly.  
_Yes,_ he thought, _that assessment is not unfounded. We do reproduce quickly._  
They sat in silence for a good long while staring at the flames. Yellow, orange and red flickered and twined through the other participating in its solemn dance. Despite their hypnotic light Strider didn’t feel tired. He was alert, stiff in the neck, and muscles strung taught. Any moment now a rider or that foul being Brianna fought could appear and try to steal away Frodo and the Ring.  
“Strider,” she said, “go to sleep. I’ve warded this place and I can stay awake longer than you. Rest for a few hours.”  
He shook his head, “In truth I can’t. Too much horror plagues my mind. I will not be rested.”  
She looked at him. Her eyes sent a shiver up the length of his spine. From fear or wonder he knew not only that she seemed to look right through him. A being of another world who was more of the heavens than of the mortal world.  
“What do you think you’re going to do? Defeat all the evil in the world if you just stay awake the entire night?” She asked.  
“No,” he said, “that is not it.”  
“Then stop worrying about things you can’t help and go to sleep.”  
He held her gaze for a bit longer than sighed. She was unmoved. Gingerly Strider stretched out on the ground and bundled his extra cloak under his head to sleep.  
“Good night, Strider,” she said almost as an afterthought.  
“Aragorn,” he said, “my name is Aragorn.”  
He didn’t expect to hear her soft reply, but as he drifted off into a fitful sleep several minutes later he did. It jolted him awake again with a start for a single moment. His heart pounded in his chest and cheeks flushed warm.  
“Mine is Aracasse.”  
Strider – nay, Aragorn – didn’t react. He forced his mind to calm and drifted back into that same troubled state of unconsciousness he was used to.  
 

* * *

   
Brianna wanted to pull her hair out. To think that the two of them shared each other’s real names, to have made herself vulnerable in such a way as to speak her name to the open. Irrationally – because she did ward the place before returning to camp – she worried that a scout from her enemy’s bosom may have overheard her.  
The light snores from Strider – Aragorn – lifted into the night’s air beside her. She hugged her knees to her chest and worried her bottom lip. She hurried her head into her knees. How long had it been since she even spoke that name? Three years? Four?  
She looked to the sky. Stars scattered thickly across the vast canvas of space. None were recognizable. Even so, despite how foreign she felt, there was still beauty to be found. As Earth grew in industry with each passing year the artificial lighting blanked out the stars of the sky. While such growth was exciting and helped by the elves themselves the lack of a night light show was disappointing. Brianna remembered the days long passed when very little industry existed.  
Despite the beauty before her and the comfort found in pondering history she experienced the shock felt deep into her bones continued to unsettle her. It was as if she brought the past to life by saying that name – the one she would rather forget – and the fate she was destined to have ever loomed before her.  
Aracasse ven Aldura. That hated, cursed name! Everyone who suffered and died for her did so because of that terrible name! She loathed it as much as she despised herself.  
Strider – Aragorn – shifted in his sleep. Sam muttered something about petunias being hard to grow. Merry and Pippin seemed to be dreaming about fireworks and ale. Frodo slept like the dead.  
One day all of them would know her name. Now that she told it to Aragorn it was only fair to inform the others… eventually. Not now, though. This time she would enjoy the luxury of anonymity. Strider didn’t know the significance of it and likely would understand her need to remain unknown. The Hobbits, like everyone else, would be awestruck.  
_If we don’t die first,_ she thought morosely.  
Erebus couldn’t be the only one in Arda. He never worked alone and was known for being hired by various entities for a considerable price. Whoever sent him needed him to befriend Sauron and help him find his ring.  
_But to what end? Why did they need to come here? Sauron wouldn’t – couldn’t – possibly be a reliable ally. What’s in it for him if he comes to help them do whatever it is they want to do? Arda? Sauron could take Arda if he tried. He’s been a thorn in their side for as long as Ba’al had been in mine. What do they want?_ She wondered while glaring at the flames.  
She stood in one fluid motion. The position of the moon told her it was time to check the viability of her runes and reinforce whatever she needed to. The sleeping men did not stir.  
 

* * *

   
Cairo was hot and dry and dusty. Maf never had been a fan of Egypt. Deserts were impractical at best and living hell at worst. It was why, in his early years when the Fertile Crescent region of the Middle East looked like it was being taken over by sand, he’d packed his bags and traveled northwest into what was now known as Europe. He’d never gone to Egypt purposefully and never thought to set foot there for any sort of casual stroll. His mother may had enjoyed the excitement of battle, myth and political and social intrigue of the region, but Europe was something far more predictable and calming. When Cronus became king of the elves Maf had moved to Gaul just in case the usurper king tried to go after him.  
The Raiphahim and the dark Fae that ruled Egypts lands as gods and goddesses hadn’t appealed to him. His mother enjoyed the discourse between the two and played her clever games with them during that reign. All the while, Maf had remained in Gaul watching the movements of Queen Mab and The Morrighan as they sought to ensnare the human populations. The elves lived in seclusion trying to escape notice of both usurper kings, Cronus and Odin, and built a life of myth and fable. The humans didn’t worship them. Maf had pointedly started the order of the druids and wise women – the humans with elven blood running through their veins with no place on the earth other than as his students – to counter act the worship of The Morrighan and Mab.  
What became the beginning of the end was the arrival of Athena ven Turthin out of the vast expanse of forest from the east. Prince Hades, lord of the undead and the necromatic arts, had placed a violent curse upon her that caused her body to waste away.  
Maf smiled at that memory. Athena had certainly been one of a kind. She had a will of iron that snapped in two when it broke, but could also be forged together again into something stronger and more durable. Brianna was exactly like her grandmother in that respect and many more. Reluctant to be queen, defender of the week, as stubborn as a mule, as brittle as glass, and as brilliant a battle tactician as anyone could be. It was expected of the granddaughter of the elven queen of wisdom and battle and worshipped as such by the Greeks.  
“But she gets herself into trouble, just as Athena did,” he muttered to himself.  
“What?”  
Maf started from his reverie and glanced at Artemis whose expression could only be described as incredulous. He rolled his eyes.  
_She must think I’m starting to go senile,_ he thought.  
“I’m remembering your sister, Athena, and how much like her Brianna is,” he said.  
Artemis blinked at him for a moment before nodding and continuing her trek down the scorching paved street of Cairo. Just then a powerful gust of wind bulldozed through the streets and kicked up an angry cloud of sand. The dusty grit slapped Maf in the face and he coughed and sputtered in an attempt to banish the offending stuff from his nose and throat.  
She laughed, “However did you survive the days you were forced to come here?”  
The wind returned to its gentle breeze. Maf clapped his hands together before wiping the dust off of his face. Artemis, of course, had opted for a blue head scarf and tunic and brown pants. Knee high boots curve along her calves and down into the sand. They were heavy, practically seamless structurally and could trudge through the desert without allowing an ounce of sand in. Dwarf made, he guessed, and likely the ones who lived along the coast where ruins of old cities lay in their crumbling misery. All dwarves tended to live underground. Few of them stay closer to the surface and those tended to live in desert climates.  
“I didn’t. I was the most miserable sot to ever exist. And so was Brianna, might I add! She hates the desert just as much as I do!” He exclaimed far more dramatic than he had meant.  
Such an outburst was met with the appropriate chortle from Artemis’ throat. Maf would have felt his cheeks flush as red as a tomato, but his body was too over heated as it was to generate any extra.  
_Some half-elf I’ve turned out to be! I was born in these regions and I can’t even insulate myself in this heat!_ He thought.  
“Brianna acts more like a princess then she cares to admit,” Artemis quipped.  
“And what are you trying to insinuate?” He asked indignantly.  
“Nothing, I assure you,” she replied with a side tilt to her lips.  
Maf shook his head and they continued to their destination. A large apartment building loomed before them a few blocks from what was considered the old Cairo district. They entered the building and he breathed in the clean air conditioned environment that was thankfully devoid of dusty sand particles. Artemis removed her head scarf and hung it at the crook of her left arm. Slowly they climbed the winding staircase to the fourth floor and slipped into a dimly lit hallway.  
“Here it is!” Artemis chirped.  
Etched in Arabic from brass was the number 456. Maf frowned to himself. He missed the beauty of the more ancient languages of his people. Babylon; especially, had enraptured him. But all things came to an end in that regard as the land changed and the desert invaded the fertile lands. Maf had left after the death of Japheth his forefather during the reign of Laurealasse.  
As he remained lost in his thoughts the door opened and blank white eyes peered out of the door. Silver-white hair settled on a frail, thin shoulder and framed a delicate face all angles and perfectly smooth planes. As fragile as a lily, Ailya ven Du’Gratha, high seer of the elves and prophetess of the Triune, still unsettled all who met her with those twin pools of unseeing eyes that seemed to stare into a person’a soul.    
“Mafortion Japhethelion and Artemis ven Turthin you are most welcome to this house,” Ailya greeted sagely.  
“Your hospitality is most welcome,” Maf replied before Artemis could.  
“We found many troubling things in the past few days,” Ailya informed them before stepping to one side to let them through, “we have much to discuss. I fear it is unsettling news.”  
“Such incidents always unearth unsettling news,” Artemis remarked dryly as she stepped passed Maf and through the doorway, “and my niece always seems to be the herald of it.”  
Maf rolled his eyes. Artemis certainly possessed her own dramatic streak. He followed after into the dimly lit living space. Loki was already there splayed out on a grand red velvet couch looking as relaxed as he always did. Blond hair fell around his shoulders and gold eyes peered at them from under hooded lids.  
“Good afternoon, Loki,” he greeted.  
The Elder smiled, “Greetings son of the historian. I’ve heard your apprentice continues to resist taking your lessons in caution seriously. She’s certainly full of spirit.”  
“Of a sort, yes,” Maf replied wryly.  
The Elder stood and his form shimmered and changed into a diminished version of the grand elf male. His face, once that of a proud elven male from the north with a strong square chin and broad cheekbones, subsided into a thin angular face. His eyes remained gold and the same light of mischief glowed within.  
“The situation she currently landed herself in seems to be graver than we first thought,” Loki said.  
Artemis’ lips thinned and Maf watched her slide a glance to Ailya. The female Elder inclined her head. On most daily occasions the seer kept her expression blank and emotionless so as to remain as detached from mortals as she could while the Triune communed with her and she, him. This day was different. Even she looked unsettled.  
“I fear it is a serious matter. Mab descended into hell six days ago. I felt the change in the atmosphere as it happened. She seeks to bring forth the one she believes is elven king. Prince Hades the blooded son of the usurper king has left hell, but is not on this earth. I fear these rips were made to herald his coming,” she explained.  
“Rips?” Maf asked.  
“There are walls separating one reality from another. The best I can describe them is this: they’re the veil between galaxy’s that keep us from experiencing omnipresence and maintains a balanced natural order to our worlds. Such an occurrence keeps the stars in our galaxy from being knocked out too drastically. The Morrighan tore through that barrier and into the nearest galaxy, Andromeda, to enter Arda a land much like our own with the occasional subtle nuance here and there. Brianna is there and so is Hades. He doesn’t seem to be looking for her as of yet, but we can’t get definitive answers until we go over there ourselves using what we know to hopefully decrease the strain placed on the wall at this present time,” Loki explained.  
Maf lowered himself to the couch and leaned his elbows on his knees. Few knew that his mother had gone to Arda and several other worlds shortly after the catastrophic flood that wiped out ninety-eight percent of the Earth’s population. Those who did kept the copies of her recorded travels locked away safely to never be gazed at by anyone but those they deemed worthy. They didn’t know much about inter-dimensional travel. It was, in fact, just as taboo as time travel but with less risk of disrupting the fabric of reality. Unless, it seemed, the traveling was done by sorcery which only enabled the direct damage to the wall between worlds.  
“I am pleased to say that I didn’t follow an ounce of what you said. However; it does seem to be important. I thought space separated us from different galaxies?” He asked.  
Loki smirked, “For mortals and the simple minded ‘space’ is the best way we can describe this phenomenon.”  
It took Maf a long exercise in patience to refrain from answering Loki’s smug sarcasm with a biting retort that wouldn’t actually effect the man in any way. Raiphahim always held a modicum of arrogance, but Loki was in a different class of his own. Few of the Raiphahim ever took the path of righteousness. The history of their births were horrendous at worst and disgusting at best – a perversion of a blessing the Triune had hoped to introduce one day and was now ridiculously delayed. Loki hadn’t followed the darkness despite being the son of The Fallen Heylel ben Shachar and the high knight elven sorceress, Kareyla di’Markeria. A master of lies and tricks Loki had played the evil and the light until the very end when those who would know his allegiances revealed them to the world much to a certain  princess Rhaidien ven Aldura’s astonishment.  
Maf only knew what his mother had told him. Loki had never spoken of his early days; especially those with the princess, but enough was recorded from all who remembered many things could be learned. Maf never bothered to get into it. His focus was learning his magical craft he’d inherited from his mother. The fifth element – Syre – wriggled and writhed within his very soul. It begged for periodic release. Every once in a while he did just that and there were moments when that release allowed him to see glimpses of the immediate past and future. He never saw anything so far back since before the Triune allowed the dead and dying stars to reform themselves and begin anew after so many worlds had been ravaged.  
It was why, according to Loki, inter-galaxy travel was limited by the walls created by space and time. Humans understood it to an extent and created their string theories and speculations on alternate realities. It wasn’t that there were different universes. Everything existed in one gigantic universe for several millennia. The Triune created space and time in such a particular way that it took careful manipulation of that space and time to cross from one galaxy to another. Unless one happened to deal in sorcery and managed to pound right through it while shattering the wall in its wake.  
Artemis didn’t sit and remained standing with her legs two feet apart and arms grumpily crossed over her chest. Her lips pulled into a frown and her brows wrinkled in their deep furrow. Maf caught himself staring, again, and looked away with a curse. It seemed he never could quite erase this admiration for her.  
“What could be in Arda that Mab would want? I doubt Hades would be thrilled with that unholy alliance as it is? What was the dick’s name? Morgoth? The one who acted like he was some hot shot king of darkness? I doubt Hades will share with such a man,” she remarked stoutly.  
“Morgoth is chained,” Ailya said gravely, “Sauron, his acolyte, is the one who currently holds power. He was temporarily diminished, but is regaining his strength. I see Brianna there, sometimes, and she is as safe as she can be. Erebus hunts her and another, but…” Ailya faltered and her typical mask broke into an uncertain frown.  
Maf’s brows rose. It was a rare thing to see their seer uncertain, but it manifested every so often. Clearly her world extended to only their galaxy and no where else. Andromeda was close enough to see glimpses, but not close enough to see all.  
“There are shadows. They fight me and rage against me. I can’t see the entirety of the situation. All I can know is that Brianna is safe for now, but is hunted all the same. The enemy knows she is there,” she concluded.  
“You can’t see? I thought you can see everything?” Artemis asked.  
“No, I can’t see everything. My sight is limited to our galaxy and will not stretch beyond,” Ailya said.  
Maf glanced at Loki who watched their seer with no small amount of concern reflected in his eyes. The Elder Raiphahim merely shrugged and settled back into his previous position on the couch.  
“What has been done as of now. Who knows she’s missing?” Maf asked.  
“Laurel sent word to Brianna’s cousin. As regent he needs to know she’s disappeared. The rest of the Elders are informed as is the wizard council and the Hunters, I’m assuming,” Loki replied.  
“I spoke with the Shadow Units. They’ll be accompanying us to Arda to both find her and root out whatever evil decided to make themselves known to that world. Whatever pact Mab made with this Sauron we can’t let it continue,” Artemis said.  
“I spoke with the wizard high council. They will bring our brightest minds together to make certain the process runs smoothly,” Maf added.  
Loki nodded, “I’ve a word with Thor. He’s agreed to keep the peace on his side on threat of being turned into a chicken should I return and find the elven peoples in shambles. The dwarf king, Beowheln, is willing to work with your young wizard, Matthias, to create durable weapons and armor. We’ve already had words with the professor concerning progress of time in that world. She doesn’t believe they’ve bettered themselves beyond what we consider Medieval. She’s working with them to ensure period appropriate attire is manufactured.”  
Artemis nodded, “Good. We’ll need to blend in as best we can. I don’t want to place my hunters in too much danger until we completely understand the gravity of the situation.”  
“I intend to herald your coming,” Ailya informed them, “my skills as a healer will be useful in gaining knowledge of the land. I will be able to see more once I’m there, of that I have no doubt. Once you arrive I can help inform you of the climate.”  
“I’ll go in ahead as well,” Maf said, “my main focus will be to find Brianna. You can direct me in her general direction and maybe even accurately see where she’ll be,” he told Ailya.  
The seer inclined her head ever so slightly, “There is wisdom to this. I agree.”  
Maf caught Artemis’ look and knew she most certainly did not like the suggestion. As per usual she didn’t say a word and averted her gaze to Loki. As those two launched into a logistics debate Maf offered Ailya whisky from a crystal decanter on a side table nearest him. The polite curtesy helped hide the disappointing pang in his gut that always came up at least once when he was around the huntress.  
 

* * *

   
They made it to the bridge the next day early in the morning. Brianna waited with the hobbits while Strider – Aragorn – inspected the bridge and the road beyond. He returned with a slight light in his eyes that made her mouth go dry. His eyes were quite beautiful when they weren’t lost in somber thought.  
“I can see no sign of the enemy,” he said, “and I wonder very much what that means. But I have found something very strange.”  
He held out his hand, and showed a single pale-green jewel. Brianna leaned forward for closer inspection. The gem wasn’t emerald or diamond, but it certainly seemed to have a similar clarity. She met his gaze with a raised brow.  
“I found it in the mud in the middle of the Bridge,” he said, answering her unvoiced question, “It is a beryl, an elf-stone. Whether it was set there, or let fall by chance, I cannot say; but it brings hope to me. I will take it as a sign that we may pass the Bridge; but beyond that I dare not keep to the Road, without some clearer token.”  
They passed over the bridge and went a little farther along the road before turning aside to step into the land beyond. With such a deep forest ruins of old villages and great buildings littered the land about them. Brianna felt the ever present itch to explore, observe, and look for clues of such clearly ancient life. The stones of each building felt old though she couldn’t divine an exact age. She supposed she could have, but such a display of magic was risky this present time. Frodo’s condition didn’t allow for too much time to dally.  
Strider took his time to tell them of the land around them when asked. Humans dwelt there and fell to darkness through some evil country or another.  
“Their dwelling here has been long forgotten by most, even the land no longer remembers the touch of man,” Strider explained.  
_And yet you seem to know all about such things the land forgot_ , Brianna thought and narrowed her eyes at his back, _Who are you, Aragorn who calls himself Strider?_  
They walked for two days until rain began to cascade from the sky like a gigantic water fall. Brianna quickly sheltered them under some modified trees and moved the water away from their gathered wood so they could spark a fire. They waited out the night and set out again. It was still raining, but the drops fell in a thin mist instead of a torrential downpour. The hills rose higher and Brianna felt the air beginning to thin as high hills gave way into mountains only a few more miles away. Strider – Aragorn – turned them northward and well out of their intended pathway.  
“I don’t like this weather,” he told her shortly after Sam took Bill’s reigns and Brianna joined him silently.  
Brianna smiled, “No one made it happen other than the Triune, bless his names.”  
The ranger didn’t comment on the blatant expression of religious affinity, though he did seem to have done a double take. For Brianna, this was an experiment more than anything else. She knew so little of her people that chose to settle in this world and she wanted to learn as much as she could without asking too many questions. Strider’s reaction could have meant several different things, but the lack of incredulousness told her that deity worship of elves was not uncommon. At least there was some familiarity in that regard.  
“I know, but the weather makes our journey slower and worse for Frodo. He can’t remain in the cold for too long,” he said.  
“It will pass soon. The winds are blowing from the south and the rain will be redirected elsewhere,” she assured him.  
“It’s been ten days. I can’t say how much longer Frodo will remain stable,” he responded.  
Brianna placed a hand on his shoulder, gave a quick squeeze, and removed it. Strider – Aragorn – started as if he hadn’t expected any sort of familial comfort from her. Something clearly the females of her kind refrained from expressing. As usual he didn’t remark on the oddity.  
“We will get Frodo to Rivendell safe and sound. He will be healed even if I have to carry him the rest of the way on may back and leave you lot behind,” she promised.  
He smiled wryly, “You don’t know the way.”  
She shrugged, “I’m only speaking in desperate terms. That may not need to happen.”  
The walked in silence as listened to the soft chatter of the hobbits behind them. They camped for the night and Strider made Brianna sleep the entire night so as to help her regain any energy she might have lost in the last couple of days she never slept. This night, after she warmed Frodo’s cloak to mimic a heated blanket, she settled close to where Strider – Aragorn – sat to keep the night watch.  
_Just in case he needs to wake me for any reason,_ she told herself.  
She settled down and closed her eyes. A breathing exercise she’d leaned long ago when she resolved to try and keep a regular human sleep schedule was brought forth from the recesses of her mind. With a steady intake of small breaths over thirty minutes she would drift away.  
“Good night, Aracasse,” he whispered.  
Startled from the beginnings of her exercise Brianna opened her eyes and met his. They gazed at her with an intensity that made her mouth go dry again and butterflies form in her stomach.  
“Good night, Aragorn,” she whispered and returned to her attempt to fall asleep.  
It took longer than it normally did this time. Brianna attributed it to his using her real name. Maybe, just maybe, his intense searching expression unsettled her as well, but she wasn’t too keen on trying to discern the reason why.    
  



	8. Flight to the Fjord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was lazy in the writing of this chapter and implemented some copy-paste techniques. Mostly because trying to write the scene myself would have taken up a good portion of my time when I first wrote this. It was a busy time of the years for me.

**Chapter 7**   
  
**Flight to the Fjord**

 

  
Their detour through the hills had ended in a disappointed Strider announcing that it was best to return to the road. The descent to the road had relieved much of Frodo’s weariness and he was able to continue the trek without much difficulty after a while. Brianna continued to guide and help him as best she could despite the increase in her own discomfort. Worrying about Frodo’s health and the safety of the other hobbits was cause enough for stress. Something strange changed concerning her relationship with Strider/Aragorn and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. What she did understand was that the exchange of each other’s names had awakened a new level of intimacy that few shared. What made it all the more unsettling was how willing he was to call her by that cursed name.  
She dared not ask why. Brianna suspected that the ranger didn’t quite see the full scope of this change in their discourse. Even if he did she suspected that he didn’t want to notice.  
Pippin found a path in the later afternoon after a couple of days traversing down the hills toward a river Strider termed to be the Loudwater. It was old, clearly unused for at least sixty years, but clear in most places and made through what Brianna could tell to be the easiest path to the river. Frodo was able to traverse it with ease. Despite this their trek was cautious lest something unexpected spring upon them.  
‘Suddenly coming out of a belt of fir-trees it ran steeply down a slope, and turned sharply to the left round the corner of a rocky shoulder of the hill. When they came to the corner they looked round and saw that the path ran on over a level strip under the face of a low cliff overhung with trees. In the stony wall there was a door hanging crookedly ajar upon one great hinge.’ **(The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Ch 12, pg 204, Kindle Edition).**  
Brianna stared at it through slitted eyes and motioned for Sam to take the reigns from her. Strider followed closely behind her glancing warily at the terrain in an effort to cover her back. They managed to open the door a bit wider – the first clue for them that the door had been hanging ajar for many years – and stepped into the cavern beyond. Brianna lifted her hand and focused. Fire briefly flared in her hand before it began turning yellow, then blue, then white. The fire smoothed into a bright happy glow that she released into the air to light the cavern.  
It was quite disappointing in terms of creepiness. On the other hand old bones, empty pots and broken jars littered the ground. The urge to go in and excavate the cavern came upon her and she closed her eyes and breathed. Sadly, those days were long over but it didn’t diminish the longing for them.  
“What is this place?” She asked.  
“Once I suspect it was a troll hoard, but no longer. It is abandoned,” Strider remarked.  
Pippin had slipped behind them to get a peek. He shuddered.  
“That’s definitely a troll hoard if ever I saw one,” he said, “let’s get away from here.”  
Strider voiced his affirmative and moved away. Brianna looked longingly into the cave. If time had permitted she would have gone in and spent a few hours looking for old relics. A release of breath pulled her away from the scene and returned to Frodo and the others.  
“What’s wrong?” Frodo asked as she twined Bill’s reigns around her fingers.  
She blinked. Earnest blue eyes blinked at her from a small head of black hair. Brianna forced a smile to grace her lips.  
“Nothing. Just remembering things,” she said.  
“What things?” He asked.  
She chuckled, genuinely amused, and began to lead them down the path once again. Strider glanced at them over his shoulder, dark brow raised. She stuck her tongue out at him. His expression turned shocked. With an impish shrug she returned her attention to Frodo.  
“There was a time when I wasn’t a huntress. I left for about thirty years to pursue something less dangers,” she replied and frowned for a moment.  
_Alyan, Allyson, and Judah,_ she thought. _I left for you and now I’m back for you because I can’t let you go, can’t forget._  
“During that time I studied histories of my race and my world in general. I even went around different countries, or realms, to look for ancient artifacts left behind by people who are gone,” she explained, “My mentor was there for so much of it. She could tell me things that no history book or rough translation of some stone tablet ever could.”  
“Is that why you have so many stories?” Pippin asked.  
“I wouldn’t call them stories,” she replied, “they’re more like accounts.”  
They continued on. Pippin and Merry strode on ahead of their little group and faded from sight as their foliage obscured them. Brianna remained silent, lost in memories, while Strider cautiously continued onward. They had not gone far before Pippin and Merry hurried back. Fear plastered their expressions like thick cement. Brianna started and pulled Bill to a halt.  
“Trolls!” Pippin hissed as he slid to a stop in front of Strider, “In the clearing ahead! Three of them!”  
Brianna blinked.  
_Trolls? I don't smell them,_ she thought.  
“We will come and look at them,” Strider said and picked up a stick.  
Brianna blinked. Whatever was the best weapon to use against a troll she was certain a stick was about as useless as a gnat. She gently tugged Bill forward to resume his slow plod. Frodo remained silent, almost contemplative.  
They reached the clearing quickly. Sunlight streamed through the leaves of red oak trees fading from their beautiful deep green into various colors of red, orange, yellow and brown. In the middle of that clearing stood three trolls completely unmoving. Brianna’s eyes, like an eagle’s, focused on a little bird’s nest resting comfortably on the top of one troll’s head. She smirked.  
Strider, as if needing to prove a point, struck the leg of a troll and broke the stick. Frodo laughed.  Brianna giggled and winked at Strider.  
“Shall we add ‘Slayer of Trolls’ to your list of skills?” She asked impishly.  
“Well!” Frodo said. “We are forgetting our family history! These must be the very three that were caught by Gandalf, quarreling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit.”  
“That certainly seems dire,” Brianna remarked, “Tell me all.”  
“You are forgetting not only your family history, but all you ever knew about trolls,” said Strider. “It is broad daylight with a bright sun, and yet you come back trying to scare me with a tale of live trolls waiting for us in this glade! In any case you might have noticed that one of them has an old bird’s nest behind his ear. That would be a most unusual ornament for a live troll!”  
“Could have been a female troll invulnerable to sunlight?” Brianna asked sweetly.  
Strider met her gaze and Brianna was both surprised and pleased to see the corner of his mouth tilting into a half smile. Strider turned his attention to the hobbits. His eyes twinkled with subdued merriment. He ushered them away and the group continued walking. The hobbits’ mood lightened and laughed merrily about their encountered. Sam even sang about the encounter with Frodo’s infamous Uncle Bilbo. Brianna allowed the general teasing and merriment to wash over her as Strider led them onward down the track. The hobbits were excited and chattered about Old Uncle Bilbo’s great journey with the increasingly interesting wizard, Gandalf, and twelve Rowdy dwarves.  
‘After a few miles they came out on the top of a high bank above the Road. At this point the Road had left the Hoarwell far behind in its narrow valley, and now clung close to the feet of the hills, rolling and winding eastward among woods and heather-covered slopes towards the Ford and the Mountains. Not far down the bank Strider pointed out a stone in the grass. On it roughly cut and now much weathered could still be seen dwarf-runes and secret marks.’ **(Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Pg 206 Kindle Edition)**  
“That’s the marker Bilbo and the dwarves used to remind themselves where they buried the treasure!” Merry said excitedly.  
“Is there anything left of Bilbo’s portion, Frodo?” Pippin asked.  
“No,” Frodo said, “he gave it all away. He said he didn’t feel like it was his as it was from a trove of robbers.”  
Brianna found herself nodding, “He seems quite wise, your uncle.”  
“In some ways. In others I fear Bilbo was a grouchy, suspicious old man,” Frodo replied laughing.  
She snorted, “I know elves who are like that. One in particular has red hair and likes to hit people with big thick books when they’re least expecting it.”  
Strider took the first steps toward the road. Brianna gently tugged Bill’s reigns and initiated a careful descent over pointed rocks and sudden dips in the dirt. The road was quiet in that early evening without a traveler in sight. Nothing stirred other than the evening crickets chirping away their happy calls as the last dregs of fall shifted into winter. A cold wind danced across her skin the moment she and the others made it to the road. Silently they tread onward all the while taking stock of the land surrounding them.  
The day waned into twilight. Each of them began to look for a place off the road to sleep for the night. Brianna glanced at a small alcove in the right. She dismissed it quickly. The alcove wasn’t obscured enough to avoid the danger of being seen.  
She drew to a stop startling Frodo and Bill. The others hadn’t noticed until a little ways later when Pippin looked back and noticed a gap between them. Brianna hadn’t noticed. She was too busy listening to what she, at first, thought were rocks and now could tell in the silence that it wasn’t so. They were hooves.  
Slowly she met Strider’s gaze and at his nod she pulled Frodo into the alcove. Strider and the three other hobbits followed shortly after. Brianna left Frodo and Bill to stealthily move toward the front of the group. With a breath she closed her eyes a moment and conquered the land around them.  
_I am the elven queen. I have been given dominion over you for a time. You will allow me to use you to protect these people,_ she told it.  
The land, whatever force sustained it, acquiesced to the demand. She opened her eyes and prepared the flora to launch a series of should-be-fatal-but-probably-won’t-Be strikes. Then the sound of bells met her ears and her brow furrowed.  
“The fuck?” She asked to no one in particular in a voice as soft as the wind.  
“That doesn’t sound like a rider’s horse,” Frodo remarked.  
“So we hope,” Sam said.  
“But, bells?” Brianna asked incredulously.  
Strider was silent, but Brianna noticed a growing smile spreading across his face. She thought about asking what exactly it was he was so happy about, but refrained. Deciding to trust him; however, she released her hold on the land and merely placed the tips of her fingers on a knife hidden in her less-than serviceable boot.  
The light faded completely and Brianna was left feeling the wind rustle her bronze hair. Moonlight peaked every once in a while from behind slow moving clouds. Clearer and nearer now the bells jingled, and clippety-clip came the quick trotting feet. Suddenly into view below came a white horse, gleaming in the shadows, running swiftly. In the dusk its headstall flickered and flashed, as if it were studded with gems like living stars. The rider’s cloak streamed behind him, and his hood was thrown back; his golden hair flowed shimmering in the wind of his speed.  
The rider halted and looked up at them. Clear blue eyes, much lighter than Strider’s, stared up at them.  
Brianna didn’t completely relax, but she did take her fingers off the hilt of her knife. Her tension completely faded when Strider leapt out of the alcove and strode down to the road. The rider dismounted and ran to meet him.  
“Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen!” The rider called.  
Brianna blinked. She’d never heard that tongue of elvish before. A sense of knowing was there; however, and she could extract some meaning from the strange words.  
Like when I heard German for the first time and could pinpoint a relationship with English, she thought.  
The elf spoke urgently to Strider in that same tongue. She sighed and moved to grab Bill’s reigns.  
“Seems like we have nothing to worry about from him,” she said.  
Frodo stared at her a whispered, “You both glow.”  
She started, “What now?”  
“You and that elf glow this bright light, though yours seems to flicker like a flame,” he informed her.  
Brianna opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Glowing? Sure her skin reflected moonlight at certain angles but she never thought she actually glowed.  
Strider beckoned them to come out at that moment and Brianna shook the incident from her thoughts, “Come forth! This is Lord Glorfindel who dwells in the House of Rivendell!”  
She gently urged Bill out of the alcove behind Sam, Pippin and Merry and slipped into view. The elf’s eyes widened and gabbled something at her in elvish. Brianna shook her head.  
“It’s best to speak to me in Common Tongue. I am not familiar with the elvish of this world,” she replied.  
She hadn’t thought it possible for a person to look comically surprised, but this elf managed it. He stepped to her swiftly and peered down at her from his great height.  
It was her turn to gape. How tall was he?  
“Another world,” he breathed, “Extraordinary! Lord Elrond saw true!”  
“What?” She asked appalled.  
He didn’t answer but turned to Frodo just as quickly and said, “Hail, and well met at last! I was sent from Rivendell to look for you. We feared that you were in danger upon the road.”  
“Then Gandalf has reached Rivendell?” cried Frodo joyfully.  
“No. He had not when I departed; but that was nine days ago,’ answered Glorfindel. "Elrond received news that troubled him. Some of my kindred, journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin, learned that things were amiss, and sent messages as swiftly as they could. They said that the Nine were abroad, and that you were astray bearing a great burden without guidance, for Gandalf had not returned. There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine; but such as there were, Elrond sent out north, west, and south. It was thought that you might turn far aside to avoid pursuit, and become lost in the Wilderness. It was my lot to take the Road, and I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel, and left a token there, nigh on seven days ago. Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward. Since then I have searched for your trail. Two days ago I found it, and followed it over the Bridge; and today I marked where you descended from the hills again. But come! There is no time for further news. Since you are here we must risk the peril of the Road and go. There are five behind us, and when they find your trail upon the Road they will ride after us like the wind. And they are not all. Where the other four may be, I do not know. I fear that we may find the Ford is already held against us.”  
“Only the wraiths?” Brianna asked sharply.  
Lord Glorfindel frowned, “I am not sure. A shadow has followed me since I left the bridge, but I have yet to meet with it.”  
She frowned, “It wasn’t only the wraiths who assaulted us. Dark beings from my world have crossed over along with me and maybe even before my arrival.”  
The elf lord began to pace to and fro with a hand on his chin, “This is concerning. Lord Elrond felt a shift in the world, but he couldn’t divine what it was. I felt something strange, a darkness of a sort that was foreign to me, but I hadn’t thought…”  
Brianna’s attention shifted to Frodo who slumped in his seat. She moved to him and touched his shoulder. The hobbit smiled a bit though a shadow of disappointment lurked behind.  
_He’s exhausted,_ she thought.  
“My master is ill,” Sam said, “He can’t go on riding in the night.”  
Brianna nodded, “I agree. But if the enemy’s moving then we probably should go. I can carry Frodo.”  
Glorfindel stood beside her and helped lower Frodo to the ground. There he knelt and inspected him while Strider described the attack on Weathertop. Brianna didn’t interject she was busy watching the elf inspect Frodo’s wound and the knife incision she had made to act as an infusion drip. Strider handed him the knife hilt and Glorfindel took it only to shudder. Brianna didn’t blame him. The thing felt sticky like it filled the air around it with tar.  
“There are evils marks on this blade, though you may not be able to see them,” Glorfindel remarked.  
Brianna paid him no mind. She’d seen the blade enough to know what sort of dark artifact it was and knowing that there was something written on the damn thing  wasn’t going to help her with Frodo’s wound. She watched the elf hand back the blade and moved his attention to Frodo.  
“Keep the blade,” he said, “Though there is little I can do for him. The wound is beyond my skill. Lord Elrond will be able to do more.”  
She didn’t know what he did but focus seemed to return to Frodo’s gaze and he was able to move his arm and shoulder a little bit. Glorfindel helped him sit and turned to the party.  
“This is all I can do, but the enemy lurks along our path. We can’t rest for the night. I propose we let Frodo ride my horse in case the enemy finds us before we reach the bridge,” he said.  
Frodo looked horrified at the thought and Brianna interjected, “I will ride with him. Should my enemies follow him Frodo will be defenseless.”  
Strider grabbed her arm, “You will be directly in harm’s way should you do this.”  
“That’s the point, Ranger,” she said softly, “My enemies will follow me; especially, as they have a particular reason to hate me.”  
Strider didn’t argue further, but he did stand back and stare at her through a frustrated tilt of his brow. Brianna grinned and helped Frodo onto Glorfindel’s large white horse. She climbed up behind him and took the reigns.  
“Thank you, Bri, but what about the others?” He asked.  
Brianna gently tapped on the mind of the horse, proved herself a friend and asked it to walk forward. Glorfindel uttered a few awed exclamations in the elvish tongue she couldn’t understand.  
_What is their magic like here? Subtle pulling of power? Why does he act like he’s never seen an elf before?_ She wondered.  
“I suspect you and I will be distraction enough,” she replied to Frodo, “even if they were assaulted I think Lord Glorfindel and Strider will prove capable.”  
The elf lord tread on before them. All were silent as the concern of enemies lurking about lived in the forefront of their minds. Brianna didn’t like riding; especially, with a wounded Hobbit in front of her. The need for her with Frodo was clear even if Strider, who walked a few paces before them, didn’t much care for the idea. To Brianna it didn’t matter what he thought. The gravity of the situation changed when it became apparent that her enemies were in this world.  
_Why are they here? What do they want?_ She wondered.  
Such thoughts plagued her as the company plod on. The hobbits were weary. Frodo has long since passed into an uneasy slumber. Even Strider’s shoulders slumped forward and he briefly rubbed his eyes every now and then. For Brianna’s part her mind was too charged to sleep. Too many conundrums befuddled her for weariness to claim her mind. There was little doubt in her that at the moment of arrival she would be completely spent.  
Lord Glorfindel finally called halt and they rushed into a place off the road covered thickly in heather. Brianna helped make sure Frodo was comfortable and asleep before she turned to leave.  
“You could sleep a moment,” the elf lord suggested softly so as to keep from waking Strider Who was a light sleeper.  
Brianna smiled wryly, “No, I can’t. This… this plot of the enemy troubles me as I can’t think of exactly what it is.”  
He looked thoughtful, but nodded all the same, “I will rouse them in five hours time. Proceed with caution. The enemy is close.”  
She smiled gravely, “That’s why I’m going. Maybe I’ll deal with them sooner rather than later?”  
“You look for a fight,” he noted.  
She shrugged, “I’m a Huntress, elf lord. I will stalk my prey and I will kill it just as efficiently.”  
With that she moved into the night and stayed just above the road searching for enemies.

* * *

 Strider woke after two hours to find Glorfindel watching the night. His expression was grim in the dim light, but the night seemed not to touch him. Gingerly the ranger rose and moved to sit beside his friend. They sat silently for a time and gazed into the darkness.  
“Brianna is gone,” Strider said after a while.  
“She seems to be hunting our enemies,” Glorfindel replied.  
This didn’t surprise him. Brianna had done so ever since Weathertop. It worried him for a reason Strider couldn’t quite understand. This elleth seemed reckless to a fault. Her need to exact a certain amount of ferocity to her enemies allowed very little need to hold back her power however considerable it was.  
“She is a powerful wielder of the magic of the Maiar. I liken her power to what I know Mithrandir can do should the need arise, yet she uses it more,” Strider explained.  
“I know. I felt her subdue the land before I rounded the bend in the road. Had I not placed bells on Asfaloth she would have likely killed me without a thought. You may think she’s rash, but if her enemies are here she might feel that she needs to be. Darker forces are at work in Arda than any we have seen. Lord Elrond has seen this though he knows not of what to make of it. He and I felt her come through. I know it was her now that I’ve met her,” Glorfindel said.  
Strider didn’t reply but sat silently to think about the implications of this. The great elf lords felt her enter Arda. The land accepted her presence, or she made it.  
“No elf here has her power,” Strider remarked.  
“No, we do not and I suspect we will be thankful for that in the coming days,” Glorfindel replied.  
Strider took that for the rebuke that it was and stared silently at a short tree. He closed his eyes. It had been a long time since she had won his trust in regards to her reliability as an ally. The expanse of her power; however, was another matter. He didn’t trust such wild magic. It certainly seemed she had control of it, but if she didn’t then what? They knew little of it.  
Brianna materialized before him after an hour. Strider didn’t start as he once did. She was an elf and she moved as one would when returning from a hunt. Her eyes looked concerned and as she drew closer Strider beheld blood on her clothes. He straightened and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.  
She hastily waved him down and sat beside him. Glorfindel moved from them though Strider couldn’t fathom as to why. He studied her and noticed her body was rigid with tension. Despite this she looked beautiful in the way her skin glowed with the moonlight. Her hair was loose, no longer tied in that serviceable braid, and hung around her matted and dirty yet still glinted bronze as the moonlight bathed her for only a moment.  
“Erebus sent a vampire and twenty naga after us. I killed them. No sign of the riders or Erebus himself, so they clearly don’t know where we are,” she said.  
Strider marveled at how matter-of-fact she was about killing dark creatures. It was strange to hear from an elf maiden. Few in Arda actively fought and many remained behind to guard their homes. It was known that an elleth, including the maidens, had power enough to through back the forces of the enemy if they so chose. It was why they stayed behind and fought anything that invaded. This seemed to not be so from wherever it was Brianna hailed from.  
“Some comfort Indeed,” he agreed.  
Glorfindel rose and began to raise the hobbits from their slumber. Brianna sighed and stood. Strider wondered how tired she was. In the days she traveled with him when had she the chance to mourn the loss of her World alone?  
They traveled into the day. The sun climbed high. Brianna rode with Frodo in silence her head bowed and eyes partially closed. Listening as Glorfindel likely was. Strider would have pressed on once night came, but the hobbits couldn’t from the way they continued to stumble about as darkness blanketed the sky. Glorfindel was distressed by the notion, but little could be done when Frodo declared his arm and shoulder worse.  
Brianna stayed with them this time and remained awake throughout the night ready for the moment when their enemies converged upon them. Strider woke in rounds as he, himself, couldn’t sleep and stayed next to her and Frodo. Neither said a word only guarded the Hobbit together.

* * *

   
Brianna felt the change in the air when she roused Frodo from his slumber. She could hear the signs of horses following them as well as the crash of feet, clawed and dull and heavy, scurrying through the brush and scraping across the expanse of the road.  
Our peril will be greatest just ere we reach the river,” said Glorfindel; “for my heart warns me that the pursuit is now swift behind us, and other danger may be waiting by the Ford.”  
The road steadily tilted downward as they approached the river at the valley below. They continued until mid afternoon when they came upon a dark copse of trees. As they entered within she heard the tell tale signs of hooves plodding in a canter behind them. She tensed. Frodo felt her unease and looked at her.  
“They follow us,” he breathed.  
“Yes,” she whispered.  
Ahead, Glorfindel turned. Brianna urged the horse into a brusque trot and nodded to him.  
“They’re hear!” She snapped.  
“Fly!” Glorfindel cried to the stunned hobbits.  
They broke through the trees and hastened through the clearing when the noise of galloping resounded behind them. Brianna wheeled the horse around and raised her arm, hand clenched into a tight fist. The pine branches attacked the two Wraiths that emerged with a ferocious hatred she’d allowed the land to express. Behind rode Erebus who snarled at her, red eyes glinting in undisguised rage.  
“You want him?” She cried, “Come and take him, then!”  
She whirled the horse around and bade him to ride like the wind. He seemed to get the message because suddenly the beast sprang into a hard gallop and took them through the upcoming trees like an arrow. Brianna willed the trees to move with no small an effort. Frodo was groaning as the pain in his shoulder cut through his nerves like ice and her monitoring of his welfare distracted her from the ride. But Glorfindel’s steed did not slow nor did he neglect to avoid the thickest of landscape Brianna forgot to move. Together they worked in tandem with one goal in mind: get to Imladris.  
The river looked before them and with a sweep of her slim arm the river parted for them. As they road across the dry riverbed Brianna heard snarling as animalistic shape shifters followed close behind. Just as the horse sprung onto the the river bank Brianna released the water and washed them away. The Riders and Erebus were close behind and as they reached the high bank began to cross the rushing water. Brianna pulled the horse to a stop and dismounted.  
“Bri!” Frodo cried weakly.  
She paid him no mind, but kept her attention fixed upon the Riders and Erebus. The Knight Elf was grinning at her the cruel grin of one who knew they just won the race.  
“Go back! Go back to Mordor and follow me no more!” Cried Frodo drawing his sword.  
The Rider in the lead hissed and held out a dark hand. Frodo let out a croak, but the horse did not let the Hobbit fall. Brianna formed a flaming whip in her hand and lashed out at the rider who screamed. She hit him again.  
“Leave this place in the Name of the Triune! Leave now before I make your suffering great!” She yelled.  
Erebus road into the river and said, “There is nothing more you can do, Huntress. Leave the Hobbit to us and I will spare you.”  
“Bullshit!” She snarled and directed the whip at him.  
Erebus held out his hand to block the fire, but hadn’t anticipated her to change direction at the last moment. His horse’s scream was heartbreaking, but it had to be done. It’s leg burned and the horse reared and threw the knight elf out of his saddle and into the water. He rose, sputtering, and coughing. She smiled.  
“I will make your suffering great!” He said, “I will cause you such pain that you will beg me to take your miserable life!”  
She distinguished her flame and drew out her fighting knives. Brianna fell into a guard stance and laughed. It felt good to be able to actually fight something.  
“You wouldn’t be the first You fucking corpse!” She taunted.  
As one Erebus and the Riders advanced. She readied herself and sought to draw in the water. Only, someone else seemed to have done so already, and Brianna almost dropped her stance in astonishment as the river’s current echoed a faint roar. Without actually thinking about it she scrambled back up the bank and stood next to Frodo and the horse to watch in growing awe as a Great Wall of water rushed towards Erebus and the Riders.  
Brianna, at that moment, felt that the Riders were probably smarter than Erebus. The leader turned and charged back to the other side of the River. One Rider made it over the bank only to come face to face with a raging Glorfindel who knocked it off the black horse he was riding and push it around like a sack of potatoes. Erebus tried some sort of dark shield – she wasn’t sure what exactly he was trying to do – but to no avail.  At the last second the water morphed into the image of charging stallions and crashed into their enemies.  
She grinned. That was probably the most beautiful thing she ever had the pleasure of seeing. Brianna turned to make a smart remark about their unforeseen triumph to Frodo when she saw him sag to the side. She reached up and grabbed his right arm and tugged him into her and off the great horse. He was light and fading fast.  
The sound of light footfalls startled her and she held up the one hand that still held a knife. Around the bend walked two men. She squinted. One was an elf and the other was an old man.  
“Who are you?” She asked harshly.  
The elf held up his hands and replied, “Peace Be with you, Lady, I am Lord Elrond and have been expecting Frodo’s arrival. This is Gandalf, friend of the hobbits. Let me see him.”  
She watched him for a moment, untrusting, but decided to relieve the burden of the sick Hobbit from her shoulders to his. Lord Elrond took Frodo gently in his arms and laid him upon the ground. There he inspected his wound and began to whisper and work magicks she knew little about. A faint song filled the air and Brianna blinked. Was song the median between the world and the natural powers that shaped it?  
How strange, she thought.  
“You are Gandalf” she asked the old man cloaked in grey with a fuzzy grey beard.  
He smiled fondly at her, “Yes, and you are the elf maiden who calls to the elements and tells them what she wishes them to do whether they want it or not.”  
“Arguing with trees takes too long in a crisis,” she replied primly.  
He laughed, “All too true.”  
Brianna heard splashing and saw Glorfindel, Strider, and the hobbits attempt to cross. She held up her hand and cleared a path for them that closed behind them as they crossed the Ford. Strider met her first. Quickly he grabbed her hands and chin to inspect each cut and scrape she received. Brianna pulled a face.  
“I’m not hurt, Strider!” She said.  
He smiled, “So I see, but the Riders and Erebus followed close behind you and cast dark curses in your direction. I wanted to be sure nothing hit you.”  
She blinked. Erebus tried to curse her? It wouldn’t have been the first time and she opened her mouth to say just that, but thought better of it. Something about the degree of intensity laid bare in his earnest blue eyes told her it wouldn’t be appropriate. In fact it might have alarmed him.  
“Thank you, Strider,” she said instead.  
“Aragorn. We are in Lord Elrond’s lands. You may call me Aragorn,” he said.  
Her heart jumped and dread filled her belly. Did he expect her to reciprocate? Aragorn looked at her a moment longer before turning away to look at Frodo.  
“How is he, Lord Elrond?” Aragorn asked.  
“He is not fine, but I have reached him in time to be effective,” the elf said breaking his song.  
A few bars more and Lord Elrond allowed the song to trail off into the growing evening. He lifted Frodo into his arms again and swiftly launched himself onto Glorfindel’s horse.  
“I will ride Asfaloth to Imladris and tend to him. Glorfindel, if you will guide the rest of them in safety to my house?”  
Glorfindel inclined his head, “Willingly, Elrond.”  
With a nod to them all Lord Elrond launched into a canter and rode away. Brianna watched him go before allowing a shiver to run up the length of her spine. Such magic disturbed her. It wasn’t evil, but it went against her nature. There was too much precision and control. While she, indeed, had her own version of it she could insert her will more readily when the need arose. This was clearly different.  
_I don’t like the idea of staying in a world where nature has a mind of its own,_ she thought.  
“Gandalf! Merry exclaimed, “you’re here!”  
The wizard grunted, “Indeed! And not a moment too soon, so it seems!”  
Brianna cast her eyes to the sky. The wizard was enough like Maf to make her feel comfortable around him at least.    
  



	9. Dunadain

**Chapter 8**

  
**Dunadain**

 

  
She waited with the rest of them. Aragorn has wandered off to take care of something with Glorfindel. Brianna wasn’t sure. She’d dozed off with Sam, Merry and Pippin snuggled against her all collectively worried for their friend. Dozing was the best she could do at this moment. If she tried to sleep in earnest dreams of everyone she failed to protect and tried to protect her loomed from the dark recesses of her mind. Now was not the time to remember them covered in deep gashes oozing blood with rattling shallow breaths alerting Thanatos of another souls to prepare for death. Instead she cat napped and stayed awake while the others took turns resting.  
Once each of them were allowed into the healing rooms on the second night Lord Elrond made them take shifts so as not to overcrowd him. This was on the second night when he emerged from the room and nodded to them all.  
“One at a time, each of you, I recommend retiring to a room while you await shifts. I will send for my daughter to accommodate your needs, Miss Davis,” he said and left.  
Minutes later, as if the girl had been waiting around the corner, Lord Elrond’s daughter, Lady Arwen, made her presence known. Brianna was struck dumb. For many years she’d considered Laurealasse, a long dead ancestor of hers, to be the most beautiful person she’d ever met. Lady Arwen put the queen to shame. She was tall and slim, features delicately fashioned and sparking blue eyes glittering like pale blue stars. Her skin was as pale as moonlight and hair black like glittering obsidian.  
The lady curled her red stained lips into a smile and said, “Welcome to my father’s house, Miss Brianna Davis. It pleases me to meet a new elven face. Many years have passed since children were born in Imladris and my mother’s homeland. I will guide you to your room and meet you on the morrow to take you to the dining hall to break our fast.”  
Brianna smiled and said, “Lead the way. I’m certainly ready to sleep for a while.”  
It was true. She needed to place herself into a deep, dreamless sleep for eight hours and likely wouldn’t be able to do that easily. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her standing.  
“Of course. Before that, I assume you would like to utilize the bathing chamber. I shall instruct you in its use,” Arwen said kindly.  
Brianna smiled gratefully. She’d been itching for a nice, long soak in a bubble filled bath, or something as close to it as she could get. Arwen turned and began the relatively short trek to the chambers Lord Elrond had set aside for her. The halls were open to the elements as much as possible. Sometimes the covering above faded into a quaint path through a garden peppered with many different types of flowers. The guest room set aside for her was located near a small pond created by a slim waterfall trickling down from the high hills that surrounded them.  
Her room was open to the air and Brianna was excited to see a smaller room through a door on the right that looked like a bathroom. Arwen led her into that room and lit a few candles to better illuminate the enclosed space. Underneath Brianna felt the rushing heat of whatever underground spring nestled in the rocks below. The elf maiden pulled a lever and water pooled at the bottom of the tub.  
“I have set wash rags, bottles of scented oil and a chemise in here for you to utilize at your leisure. I’ve also placed a few dresses for you in the wardrobe for you to wear tomorrow. I suspect they will be a little long for you, but I will be in with a needle and thread to help you modify them in the morning,” her hostess said.  
Brianna nodded and said, “Thank you, Lady Arwen. I’ll be happy to leave the rags I’m wearing behind. They were never meant to be worn on long trips through the wildness.”  
“I hear from my father that you appeared in the middle of said wilderness,” Arwen replied.  
“Yes, and squished Mr. Strider in the process.”  
Arwen laughed, producing a sound kin to small bells twinkling at the gust of a small breeze. Brianna almost wished her laugh could sound like that. This lady was quite beautiful and reminded her very easily how Fae-like Brianna sometimes appeared. Such tended to be the fate of elves who mixed with humans.  
“I suppose he didn’t appreciate it,” Arwen replied after her laughter faded from her lips, “if you wish I can show you our gardens on mid morning?”  
“That would be delightful, Lady Arwen.”  
“You may refer to me as Arwen. Titles are unnecessary while you are a guest in my father’s house.”  
Brianna smiled, “Arwen, then.”  
The lady left and Brianna stopped the flow of water and tore off her disgusting clothes. Naked she walked to where five bottles of scented oil were clustered together on a shelf attached to a porcelain wall and picked one up. Carefully Brianna uncorked the cap and lifted the bottle to her nose. The sweet smell of roses filled her senses as she breathed in. As it was the strongest smell she could think of that would wash away the memory of that swamp they traveled through Brianna walked back over to the bath and began to pour the pinked liquid into it. Once she was satisfied of that Brianna lowered herself into the near scalding water and relaxed.  
 It was heaven. It also felt like ages since she bathed in earnest and the color of the water changed from translucent pink to grey and brown very quickly. Instead of completely relaxing Brianna had to drain and fill the bathing pool several times before she could completely submerge herself and wash out the grime in her hair.  
When she had scrubbed her scalp raw and her skin red Brianna emptied the pool for a final time and dried herself off with a wave of her hand. There was little need to get the towels wet.  She slipped the chemise over her head and adjusted it accordingly around her hips. Her hips clung to the silk fabric tightly, though she wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.  
Carefully she moved into the bedroom and felt the cool night air prick her skin. She crossed her arms and stepped to the open window with the view of the water fall. Human eyes would have a difficult time seeing the gradually cascading waterfall tumbling down the cliff. As an elf Brianna could perfectly see the way it and the moonlight that illuminated it cast an ethereal glow about the landscape.  
_If I was an artist I would paint this place_ , she thought longingly.  
At that Brianna turned away from the scene before her and retired to the comfortable but unfamiliar bed. She didn’t dream.

* * *

 

 Aragorn paced the halls of his childhood home and considered Frodo’s predicament. Lord Elrond had said he was mending, had even gone so far as to shew the audience outside the healing halls away, but the gravity of the would still unnerved him. Every instance of evil had converged upon them and then stormed after Frodo. What made it particularly worse was the knowledge that one of that fell party wasn’t just after the ring. The one called Erebus had his eyes on Brianna and in them had been a triumphant hunger which shook him to the core.  
How safe were they? Rivendell only offered so much protection and Glorfindel, Elrohir and Elladan already spoke of scouting the outskirts of Elrond’s lands in a day or two. Aragorn already promised to go with them.  
Light footsteps shook him from his thoughts and he beheld the Lady Arwen as she rounded the bend away from the guest halls. She inclined her head to him and offered a soft, guarded smile.  
“Good evening Estel. Do I find you well?” She asked.  
“As well as can be expected. I am concerned for Frodo,” Aragorn replied after a minute.  
He remembered a time when they could speak together in comfort. When she looked on him in unguarded adoration. The day it had changed was the day his heart broke, but who could deny an elf of what they knew for certain? This meeting, he did notice, carried less a sting than the last. He wondered why, but cast the thought aside soon after. It was best not to dwell on such things.  
“My father and Mithrandir search for the fragment of the blade the wizard suspects is still there. I heard his explaining such to Miss Brianna Davis in great detail. She certainly asks detailed questions and expects equally detailed answers,” Arwen said.  
Almost unbidden Aragorn smiled, “Yes, she does that.”  
Her blue eyes, almost as perceptive as her father’s, fixed him with a suspicious squint. Aragorn didn’t allow his smile to fall. The sight of Brianna asking Lord Elrond questions was too good a memory to pass up. Upon their first meeting she bordered on impertinent! Gandalf thought her charming while Lord Elrond merely answered them as best he could in a continuous state of bewilderment.  
“You seem to be fond of her,” Arwen remarked.  
_Glorfindel made the same observation,_ Aragorn thought.  
“As a traveling companion she is an interesting person to listen to and a very good ally in battle. I’ve never felt as if Mithrandir were near me so until she came,” he said instead.  
She watched him a moment longer before merely inclining her head. Aragorn didn’t know what to make of it. There was a curiousness about Arwen this night that seemed almost defensive. He couldn’t understand it.  
“I will bid you good night, Estel, and pray that you sleep well. Do not allow your heart to be troubled by the events of the past nor by the fear for those to come,” she said and walked away.  
Aragorn didn’t stare after her. He simply continued his journey, but took a detour back to his sleeping quarters to finally fall into a peaceful slumber. It had been a few years since his last and much welcome when it came.

* * *

Daenith watched Lord Hades with a detached interest that wasn’t shared by her coven sisters. Hades and Hecate were currently partaking in ritualistic sexual intercourse to plant his seed within her belly. It was something Hecate was known for among many in their circle. She would take the seed of a male, quicken it within, and chant and form the fleshly body into whatever she wanted it to become and then make alterations at the moment of birth. Sometimes such pregnancies lasted months and sometimes only a few measly hours. Daenith had no taste for the practice in any case. She was an elven siren and her voice could cast the darkest of curses.  
Prince Aries stood by Nyx whispering into her ear while the necromancer wove a particularly nasty curse from the ever growing locks of her hair. Daenith was by far more intrigued by the magic of weaving than by the fertility sex Hecate always participated in. She watched as the prince reached his hand to Nyx’s breasts to casually play with them as he continued to mutter.  
It was quite disgusting to watch the two of them debase themselves in such a manner. Beside her the same discomfort was shown by Princess Persephone the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, niece of Hades and his consort. Daenith changed a glance at the death goddess. Once she had been beautiful, but her time in hell had caused her to wither away into an old women. Hades and Aries experienced much kinder fates, but according to Mab the males had allowed themselves to gain masterful knowledge from the beings who lived there. Persephone had chosen to wallow in her misery and become an old crone.  
Queen Mab’s disappointment in the Princess was clear and Daenith knew, from a look the queen had given her before departing for Isengard, permission had been granted to dispose of her. She caught a smirk in their direction from Aries and knew who it was Mab had truly backed. A son of one marked for Kingship made a better claim to the throne than one who’s father and mother were never so lucky.  
Hades and Persephone, yet I suspect Hades gave the order for Persephone’s downfall. My queen plays an interesting game of thrones, she thought.  
“What does this do to give me a new body, siren?” A hiss from behind.  
Daenith turned to the shadow that was the Dark Lord Sauron and inclined her head, “Hecate will quicken the seed of Hades and enchant the body so no soul but yours may enter once the time comes. It will take seven months for the body to mature and cultivate within. Hades whispers spells to form the body fit for a king such as yourself and Hecate with utilize the ancient powers to mold anything you desire into it.”  
“Months!” Sauron hissed, “I have great armies to lead. I cannot wait months!”  
Daenith approached him and pressed her hand against his misted form. She met solid leathered skin. It was difficult to grasp at first, but she managed to seep her feminine whiles through to him despite the lack of flesh and desire.  
“You will wait and become the king you were meant to be,” she purred.  
The Dark Lord came to them in part in a mist, yet she could still feel his physical presence in their world. It brought a certain headiness to Daenith’s physical need that hadn’t been there for many years. To be in the presence of such a one who could manifest in one place yet still e the being wreathed in an eye shaped flame was more than impressive. It spoke of a power beyond the lot of Hades and Aries and Mab. The Morrighan had this power as did Cerunnos the Horned God wherever he was.  
She smiled and stepped toward him, “These people are weak. These elves are weak. You will rule them all with an iron fist and the snide aristocrats on the other side of the ocean will be forced to concede your might.”  
This seemed to placate Sauron, but only a little bit. He still had his never ending questions and the way he always seemed to understand the intent of Aries and Hades unnerved her. What did he see in her?  
Aries and Nyx approached her. The necromancer’s weaving was finished and hung loosely in her hands. Aries was much like Zeus in that he was tall and blond, though his eyes were yellow denoting his dabbling in sorcery.  
_Not dabbling,_ she thought, _The Fallen in Hell taught him to conceal his change._  
The prince smirked at Daenith. She steeled herself and stepped away from Sauron. Another aspect of their plan needed to come to fruition. She was particularly vital in executing it.  
“You will cast the curse on the elven Queen,” he said.  
“So I’ve been told,” Daenith said.  
_Why has Mab cast her lot with this disgusting princeling?_ She wondered.  
He stepped forward and grabbed her arm. She glared at him for a moment before shuddering and unlacing her dress. It was part of the ritual. If Aries wanted the queen then his seed needed to be inside her while Nyx spelled the woven curse into Daenith’s vocal chords. Aries followed suite and then pressed a long kiss against Daenith’s startled mouth. She gasped and struggled but to no avail. The spell had worked at the touch of skin upon skin. He pulled away and purred into her ear.  
“I needed to know how well this will work for the day I use it on the Queen.”  
Daenith felt her senses turn in favor to him. Her mind focused on him and wanted him to help her reach the zenith of pleasure. The prince unclothed himself and pointed to the ground.  
“On your knees, Siren,” he growled.  
Daenith’s body moved without her consent and she was on the ground ready for him to take her from behind. Nyx knelt in front of her with the weave ready to spell it into her throat at the appropriate moment. For Daenith she cried out in pleasure at the sheathing of Aries’s rather large member into her. When Aries grunted as he came Nyx began to whisper the words that caused the weave to thin and enter Daenith’s open mouth only to settle around and below her vocal chords. There would be no spell casting for her until the curse was complete. No sound will be able to escape her lips until then. She was to be a slave to the curse and to the needs to Aries until that curse was complete.  
“No room for error,” Aries said, “I must be sure the queen will be ready for me the moment that curse begins to take effect.”  
 The prince was already donning his pants, shirt and battle gear once more. On the bed beyond Hades removes himself from Hecate’s body and approached them. He had long since given himself to necromancy. His body was as white as curdled milk and hair as black as shadow. His eyes; however, spoke of the change the most as they glared at them all from blood red irises.  
“The siren has the curse?” He asked.  
Aries inclined his head, “Yes Uncle. We are ready. If my great niece is anything like Athena then she will be unattached to any man and completely against forming one.”  
“And if she proves to be, then what?” Hades asked in a tone that suggested he was rather bored with the idea.  
“My seed will work on her, grow in her mind, and make her irresistible to me. Should she fight it the curse will place her into a dark sleep that only I can wake her from,” Aries explained.  
“Unless she finds her mate, my lord,” Nyx said softly, “only the power of a mate may break such a curse.”  
Daenith crossed her arms and frowned. It wouldn’t have been apparent that she was contemplating the situation laid before her to them as she couldn’t make any noise. Elves hadn’t searched for their mates in a long time. Most didn’t have a particular one and the ones that did, i.e. the royal family, never truly found their mate before they died. It was highly unlikely that the elven queen would find hers.  
Aries, clearly of the same opinion, snorted and said, “The elves have not discovered mating for a long time. They have lost sight of that “gift” from their god a long time ago.”  
“Be that as it may,” Sauron hissed, “You should not be overconfident in that eventuality. I will instruct my agent, Saruman, to inform Erebus finding the mate of the elven queen is essential. For all we know that male could be in Arda.”  
Daenith raised a brow, but couldn’t voice any of her concerns. After the handling she faced under Aries hand she wasn’t particularly inclined to support anything the prince said. The underlying insinuation was there. What did Sauron know that they didn’t. Hades seemed to be of the same mind because he cast Sauron a suspicious look, but seemed to refrain from pursuing the thought any further. Daenith felt that to be wise. If they began worrying about that technicality now then they would never complete the task before them. The elven queen would never be theirs and Hecate’s magic would falter. They needed the queen to complete the ritual or Sauron’s new body would quickly decay.  
Hecate stirred on her bed of furs. Daenith hadn’t realized the Sorceress fell asleep during their discussion. Slowly she rose to a sitting position and placed a hand on her enlarged belly. She began to whisper more spells and writhe on her bedding. Hades nodded to Nyx.  
“I’ll leave you to the maintenance. Make hands will only sour the deed and we must have the Dark Lord involved soon,” he said.  
Nyx inclined her head and moved to help Hecate by sticking two fingers into her womanhood. She spoke a spell of her own when Hecate writhed.  
“Aries will renew his seed into the spell you carry in a few hours. I suggest you rest. We must not let a soul touch you until the deed is done and the queen is under our control,” Hades said.  
Daenith inclined her head before turning and leaving the room. She truly missed the days when she was the one dominating the minds of males and bearing fruit by them. Once she held kingdoms in her power. Now she was demoted into serving this bastard.  
_On Aries in particular_ , she decided, _there would be revenge._

 

* * *

  
   
Brianna woke to a soft knock at her door. She sat up and blearily stared around the room she had been given. For a brief moment she imagined herself at OLYMPUS. To wake and discover it to not be the case left a dull pang in her heart that she struggled to ignore. Brooding about being whisked away from home was not going to help her return. She needed a clear head and a cool mind. She needed to steel herself for the unpleasant eventuality of hunting down Erebus and whoever else followed him.  
With a deep breath she slid out from under the covers and padded across the frosted marble floor and opened the door. As promised the night before Arwen stood before her with a basket loaded with sewing supplies. Brianna smiled though it was a little forced. She hated sewing and was never particularly good at it.  
“Good morning, Arwen,” she said.  
The lady smiled, “Good morning Brianna. Have I wakened you?”  
“A bit,” Brianna admitted.  
_Arwen released a light laugh and Brianna let her in. The lady gracefully walked into the room and pulled a chair from what Brianna noticed to be a desk on the other side of the room._  
 _I must have been incredibly single minded last night not to notice that,_ she thought.  
“Which dresses would you like to take in? I can obtain your measurements and order a few items of clothing for you while we do this,” Arwen offered.  
Brianna approached the finely carved mahogany armoire and opened the delicate doors. The dresses were of the same quality of silk and velvet, but less shear and gathered two layers at the skirt and bust. She noticed they didn’t have lacings up the back but were situated on the sides. With a firmness of someone who hated wearing dresses in general Brianna laced the sides as quickly as she could.  
Being the small person that she was the dress sagged in all the wrong places and revealed too much of her breasts to be socially acceptable. Arwen frowned and messed around with the fabric at key portions of Brianna’s shoulders, bust and waist. Her lips pressed together in concentration and her brows furrowed.  
“I misjudged how small you are,” she muttered and moved to the armoire again.  
After a minute or two while Brianna struggled out of the dress Arwen removed a pale green dress. The waist was slim, but the hips and buttox had more of a flare. Neither were sure about the bust area. Brianna had full breasts but a slim rib cage.  
“It might be easier to take in the bust if the rest of the dress fits you relatively well,” Arwen said.  
Brianna wordlessly pulled the dress over her head. It fit her shoulders and was only a little loose around her bust and chest. The hem of the dress pooled a little bit at the floor. Arwen studied the dress for a second and then pulled at the fabric to better judge where to take in the dress.  
After that she had Brianna take off the dress and sit half naked on the bed while Arwen took a needle, thread and scissors to the dress and carefully worked at the hem and edging. Several time she had Brianna put the dress back on to study her work and make appropriate adjustments.  
It was mid morning when the dress was finished and Brianna stood in front of a full body mirror in awe at Arwen’s handiwork. Despite disliking dresses Brianna actually felt beautiful. The pale green helped along with the silver patterns along the lining of the chest, shoulders.  
Tentatively Brianna reached up and began to braid the side strands of her hair into a crown around her head. Arwen handed her a chord to tie the strands together. The taller elf smiled.  
“You look like a princess,” Arwen remarked.  
She did at that. The green of the dress flowed down and about her like water. It billowed at the correct place past the tops of her hips and fell in a small flare to the floor. Her feet were unadorned, but that was due to there being no shoes in Imladris that would fit her. The sleeves were wide and long and trailed to the dress’ hem like green and silver vines. The neckline scooped from the top of one shoulder to the next and fell deliberately along the beginnings of her rising bosom.   
_I know, but I’m not a princess,_ Brianna thought morosely as she gazed at herself in the mirror, _I’m a queen._  
She had never worn beautiful light dresses and danced about in the gardens and glades. She never sang for the joy of it and danced with the elements she would one day use for battle and peace. She fought every second of her life and killed as swiftly as an arrow. She studied books of poetry and lore and excavated sites of ages gone by with the special knowledge of history that only elves could have. She watched when people sacrificed herself for her. She raged and grieved and burned and drowned and killed and executed people for treason. Always she was the warrior queen who purged the darkness and was never allowed to enjoy the light.  
Not once in one hundred and sixty-nine years of living, had Brianna the chance to even look like a princess.  
“Well,” she said through a break in her voice, “there’s a first time for everything.”  
Arm in arm she allowed Arwen to lead her to the dining hall. She was lost in the effort to focus on the here and now, do Brianna didn’t see the calculating look the elf lady sent her.

* * *

 Aragorn sat with Glorfindel, Elrohir and Elladan eating a late breakfast and discussing where in Lord Elrond’s lands they planned to scout. They were like minded in the opinion that the enemy wasn’t going to invade the lands directly. Elrohir ventured the suggestion that they ask Miss Davis what manner of creatures likely followed Erebus from her world into theirs. For a reason Aragorn wasn’t sure he wanted to dissect as of yet he grudgingly agreed to the idea. Involving her felt wrong and every once of his being wished for her to remain in Imladris to recover, rest and mourn her departure from her home.  
Glorfindel stood suddenly and cheerfully said, “Lady Arwen and Miss Brianna! It’s a pleasure to be graced with your company once again!”  
Aragorn turned and stared. Not at Arwen who looked as graceful and beautiful as she always did, but at Brianna. She looked small, thin, and delicate – a vision which was quite deceptive after watching her darkly clad person inflict bodily harm on that Knight Elf, Erebus – with her hair wrapped around her head like the crown of a princess. He wasn’t certain as to where the dress came from, but he noticed the tell-tale signs of them needing to take it in.  
By the way her brows rose high and her eyes dart about his person from head to toe he realized something about him evoked the same stunned gape from her. Then he remembered when he saw her narrow her eyes and lean forward a bit. Her nostrils flared and he swallowed a laugh. It was the first time she’d seen him with his beard trimmed and body bathed and wearing clean, crisp, clothes.  
“You… bathed,” she said quite inappropriately.  
Elrohir, typically grim, barked a laugh. Arwen looked a bit scandalized. Elladan raised a dark brow. Glorfindel coughed.  
“One tends to do that when in safety and not in creeks open to all manner of evils that could ambush them,” he replied dryly.  
She sniffed, “I am used to a certain high level of hygiene, Sir Ranger, that you clearly aren’t.”  
_She looks and sounds like a princess,_ he observed, _its quite endearing._  
He smiled, “So you say, Brianna.”  
“Miss Davis,” Glorfindel interjected, “I wonder if we may utilize your knowledge of dark creatures from your world? We are about to scout the area and would like to know what to look for.”  
Brianna looked away from Aragorn to reply, “Of course.”  
She took her seat next to Aragorn. Arwen inclined her head.  
“I will take my leave then. We shall meet this afternoon in the gardens, Brianna?” She asked.  
Brianna smiled, “Of course!”  
Arwen left for her father’s table and Brianna turned her attention on them. Aragorn took in the way her hair fell past her shoulders in long waves full and flowing after receiving a good cleansing treatment. The urge to reach out and touch it overwhelmed him and he moved his right hand under the table to help resist such a temptation.  
“Erebus tends to use a few lesser sorcerers and necromancers, but the primary evil you will have to worry about from him are hellhounds. They’re typically large black shapes that howl like wolves and rip any living flesh to pieces,” she explained in a bored tone.  
Elladan leaned forward interest written clearly on his face, “How do you kill them?”  
Brianna smiled and reached for some eggs and bacon. Aragorn raised a brow. He didn’t know elves from earth ate meat that wasn’t chicken and fish.  
“Fire works, but barring that certain tunes will help. He might use them for scouting, but I suspect the ones closest to the border between the wilds and Lord Elrond’s lands will be sorcerers trying to figure out how to break past his defenses,” she explained, “Try not to get hit with anything they throw at you. I’m not good at breaking curses.”  
She sat and ate for a bit while the elves and Aragorn digested that bit of information. Sorcerers who could use black magic to cast any number of fell curse upon any who come upon them. How did one fight that without magic readily available to them. He glanced at Glorfindel the only one of their group who likely had enough power to overwhelm such odds. Briefly he reconsidered the idea of inviting her to come with them, but thought better of it when she closed her eyes at a single bite of bacon.  
Glorfindel stood, “I must make my report to Lord Elrond in regards to this news. We may need to take extra precautions.”  
He left and Elrohir and Elladan departed soon after leaving Aragorn with Brianna who looked at him for a moment with her teal eyes sparkling with a light he hadn’t seen before. A tender smile graced her lips and he felt completely out of his depth. In the wild Brianna had been a force of nature. In a house of peace like Imladris she was serene, calm and unguarded.  
“Have you rested well?” He asked.  
“Yes, you?”  
“This is my home. I always find peace and rest here,” he replied.  
She cocked her head to the left all the while peering at him from underneath long eyelashes. Aragorn swallowed. Was she purposely flirting with him or did she always act so endearing in everything she did? He would have noticed if she had. At the time Aragorn had been concerned with keeping them alive. Here in his own home all fears and inhibitions were lifted and he was free to notice things he otherwise wouldn’t have.  
“You live here when you’re not traversing the wild looking for trouble?” She asked.  
There was playfulness to her tone and expression. Aragorn knew she hadn’t done that on the road. She also seemed genuinely curious and, after a moment of consideration decided to oblige in answering her question.  
“My mother took me to live here after my father died as was the tradition of my family. My father was the Ranger Chieftain of the Dunedain and frequently left on dangerous expeditions. I was taken here to be hidden from the agents of Sauron,” she looked alarmed at this and he added, “my family has a long history of hostility with the Dark Lord. It is why my father was killed. My mother lived out her days in Imladris and I left after I reached manhood to follow in my father’s footsteps.”  
“I’m sorry,” she said earnestly, “for the loss of your father.”  
"I was young when he died and it was customary for members of my family to be fostered in Imladris. Only she came where I went as well,” he said.  
There was a certain, wistful look in her eyes that told Aragorn they wandered into a subject that brought her pain. She looked away from him and down to her mostly empty plate and clasped her hands demurely on the table. He watched her both admiring her profile and resisting the urge to gather her into his arms. She wouldn’t appreciate the gesture if he had, but the desire remained.  
“You are lucky than most. So many people don’t remember the parents who died and you had the blessing of knowing your mother. And Lord Elrond doesn’t strike me as a terrible father figure,” she said and smiled still not looking at him.  
Aragorn reached out, making a decision, and rested his hand on hers. His hand was much larger and dwarfed both folded hand on the table. She looked at him, startled, and for a moment he thought he’d forgotten what he was going to say.  
“I was instructed in survival, arts, music and history. Lord Elrond was a blessing indeed. I may miss the father I barely knew, but I gained much despite his loss. Do not worry for me. I have made peace,” he whispered softly.  
Her gaze softened and Aragorn truly was lost. How had he missed this on their journey? He observed she was beautiful, but this was another matter entirely. He swallowed and pulled away aware of her effect on him and unable to bring himself to think of what it might mean.  
“I… I do not remember them well and I know I should,” she said and Aragorn did not need to ask who she referred to, “in an effort to protect me those memories were fragmented and locked away. I have yet to fully gather them back, but I have made peace with that date.”  
With that she stood. A befuddled expression painted across her face and he watched her silently fully aware of the line he nearly crossed. She clearly was as well.  
“I must go to the hobbits. They would like some company before I meet with Arwen,” she explained.  
“I fear I must depart as well. If evil has tried to invade it is best discouraged as much as possible,” he said gravelly.  
Brianna nodded and he stood with her. She looked agitated, as if she was considering something to say but didn’t quite know how to say it or whether she wanted to.  
_Best to place this conversation on hold until I can divine exactly what has happened_ , he thought.  
“Good day, Brianna. I pray for Frodo’s recovery,” he said.  
“As do I, along with your safe return,” she said and smiled.  
He turned to go and was nearly out of the dining hall when he heard the faint mutter of her voice say, “please don’t die.” Aragorn didn’t know what to make of it and kept walking, but filed that plea away for further consideration on a later date.    
  



End file.
